. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ part two - part three - final part
summary: you and Ryota have been best friends for as long as you can remember — too close to be just friends, too scared to be anything else. somewhere between comfort and confusion, affection turns into something you both try to ignore, until pretending doesn’t work anymore.
warnings: semi-canon divergence (follows some canon events but changes others), mentions of sex, fem!reader, both characters are adults (post-high school setting), slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff and comfort moments, occasional playful banter / teasing between characters, multi-chapter fic, spoilers for Slam Dunk + The First Slam Dunk ahead.
word count: 4.5k +
art not mine — credits to @ friendssong_Y on X!!
a/n: yooo here i am with my first fanfic on tumblr!! (..◜ᴗ◝..) i’m super happy to finally post part one — hope someone out there enjoys it. there might be some mistakes since english isn’t my first language. also pls be nice if i mess something up, i’ve NEVER used tumblr before!! still figuring things out lol. you’ll probably notice that both Slam Dunk’s world and Ryota himself are a little different from canon, though some original elements are still there. i wanted to write a fic where Ryota is an adult, and where he’s never been in love with Ayako. an AU set in a time very different from Slam Dunk’s, but not specifically defined. this might end up being pretty long! warnings may change as the story goes on, so make sure to check them before each new part just in case there’s something you’d rather skip. there’ll be text messages — Ryota’s are italic + bold, the reader’s just italic. thank you so much if you decide to read ♡
Even though you’re a sunny girl — sometimes even too much, with that smile that can melt even the coldest hearts — you’ve always had your down moments.
Aaah... moments?
Who are we kidding — the truth is, your life has always been a mess.
You learned early how to live with yourself. To fill the emptiness with passions, friends, anything that could distract you. You numbed yourself. All it took was five minutes alone for your mind to start running, spinning. And spinning. And spinning. Even when everything seemed fine, even when you were happy — or at least, thought you were — you always found a way to hurt yourself. Silently, without letting anyone see. Overthinking? You didn’t even know what that really meant. Maybe you were just too used to bad thoughts to live without them.
And yet, even the longest night eventually gives in to dawn.
You weren’t alone.
Not always, at least.
Not as long as Ryota was around.
You and Ryota have known each other for years — so many that you’ve lost count. He had just moved from Okinawa to Kanagawa, and you met him at the usual basketball court, the one you used to go to with Mitsui, who’d been in elementary school with your brother. You still remember the first time you saw him: a white t-shirt drenched in sweat, that focused gaze, the ball bouncing rhythmically against the asphalt. He radiated anger.
At first, Ryota didn’t want to deal with anyone. He was closed off, wary, with that look of someone who’s always had to fend for himself — like a coyote.
And you, with that disarming curiosity of yours, just couldn’t keep still or quiet.
You had to find out more.
And so, even though you were a shy kid, you found the courage to approach him. It was that rainy afternoon that changed everything: he refused to stop practicing, furious at the world, and you — stubborn, hard-headed — decided to wait for him until he was done. You stayed there, under the rain, until he agreed to let you walk him home. He didn’t say a word, but something in him melted. From that day on, he began to open up to you. Slowly, like someone afraid of getting hurt again.
But from that day on, he never left your side.
He followed you everywhere: to the court, to the konbini, to school, even to comic conventions where he’d pretend to be bored but was secretly having the time of his life watching you get excited. He joined the basketball club because of you, and from that moment, he never left you alone. If you were there, he was there. Your presence reassured him. It reminded him he didn’t always have to survive on his own.
But no matter what, Ryota was still Ryota — and trouble was always right around the corner. Like the time he tried his first — and probably last — cigarette, or when he quit basketball because he’d lost his motivation, or when he got into a fight with Mitsui. And then, the motorcycle accident. That day, you really thought you’d lose him. But you didn’t. Not as long as you were there to help him back up, to remind him he still had a road ahead.
Without even realizing it, you grew up together.
You’ve just recently graduated high school, saying goodbye forever to Shohoku and all the good memories it gave you. Takenori was so proud to know that the basketball club led by Ryota had won the Nationals: the new captain had kept his promise to the old one. And that really comforted him, because if there was anyone in the world devoted enough to basketball to risk his life on the court, it was Ryota.
Or well, maybe Takenori used to be, but that’s another story.
There was something about him that kind of scared you: he was always calm. Even when he had to lead a whole team full of difficult people, Ryota would do anything to keep them fired up. And you know why. Even though his biggest goal was to defeat the unbeatable Sannoh and fulfill his brother Sota’s dream, Ryota never gave up. After that victory, he just kept on playing.
You admired him. Always from the stands, always next to Haruko, your voice hoarse from shouting his name. You’d come up with any excuse to be there: skipping classes, risking bad grades — but it didn’t matter. You had to be there. You had to show him that you were there, by his side, like always.
Your friendship... was never easy to define. You’re not siblings. You’re not just friends. You’re something deeper, a bond no one dares to mess with. Most of your friends tease you two, calling you “lovebirds” and whatnot. Ryota doesn’t seem to mind, and he always takes the chance to tease you back. You, on the other hand, get a little embarrassed. But deep down, being associated with him that way doesn't sound too bad — and you know it.
After all, Ryota’s the boy of your life.
────୨ৎ────
Today hasn’t been a good day. Actually, it’s been one of those days that stick to you — heavy and slimy — even after a shower. You’ve been trying to feel something — anything — by going out with different guys, convincing yourself that a glance, a touch, a body close to yours might light something up inside you again. But it always ends the same way: the silence after dinner, the darkness of your room, and you crying into your pillow like an idiot.
“I can’t,” you tell yourself. “I just can’t fall in love.”
When you finally get home, you don’t even go into the living room. You take off your shoes, drop your bag in the hallway, and without turning on the lights, you walk through the garden toward the shed.
The shed. Your place. Your place — his and yours.
It’s small, a bit messy, but it’s the one place you feel safe. Inside, there’s everything: old deflated basketballs, vinyl crates, comic books, torn posters of matches, and a framed photo of you and Ryota. You hung it up years ago. His towel is still tossed over a chair, forgotten who knows when, and that chipped mug he used for iced tea in the summer.
Everything in there speaks of you two.
As soon as you walk in, the smell of wood wraps around you. It’s familiar, warm, calming. You sit on the old couch by the window — the one you’ve slept on so many times when you couldn’t stay in the house — and let the world fade into silence. Outside, the wind barely stirs the leaves. Inside, there’s only you.
And yet, in that solitude, you don't feel completely alone.
Because every corner of that shed is a memory of him.
That’s where you saw him laugh for the first time, when he was teaching you to dribble and you kept tripping. That’s where you spent entire nights talking about dreams, fears, and the future, while the neon light flickered and the mosquitoes drove you mad. That’s where he hugged you — that night when you were falling apart — without saying a word. Just his arms and his calm breathing.
And now you’re here again. With the same lump in your throat, the same urge to run away and stay at the same time.
You grab your phone. You stare at it for a while, without unlocking it. Then you do, almost automatically. You scroll through your contacts, but you already know where you’ll end up.
- hey ryo
- yo
u good?
- lol no
not even close
- again huh
need me already?
- don’t be an idiot
can u come over?
- getting dressed rn
thank anna
shes covering for me
pissed mom off too many times this week
You turn off your phone and wait for him there, like a little kid craving attention. That’s what you become when Ryota’s around: every gesture from him feels like a caress, and he always knows exactly what you need. Every single time. You often wonder why he wastes so much of his time on a wanderer like you. But in the end, it’s always been part of what you have — that mutual rescue, when both of you just want to disappear from the world.
A few minutes later, the door opens. Ryota steps in quietly, trying not to make any noise so the neighbors don’t complain. He’s wearing loose sweatpants and a black hoodie, his usual backward cap, and he’s carrying his old school backpack — the one he now uses whenever he comes here, to the shed.
“Knock knock...” his voice fills the silence almost instantly. He closes the door behind him, turns around, and spots you curled up on the couch. He raises an eyebrow, smirking.
“Rough one, huh?” He walks up to you, sits down on the couch with his legs spread and one arm wrapping around your shoulders naturally, pulling you against his chest. “Shoot,” he whispers, giving you a kiss on the forehead.
You smile instantly — this is the comfort you needed. Every time you two drift apart, you forget it. And then he comes back, persistent, to remind you again and again. You snuggle closer, accepting his invitation, and in a faint voice you whisper, turning serious again. “Remember that guy I told you about?”
He looks at you and nods. “Hm, that nerd who wouldn’t stop staring at you? I was there —“
You cut him off. “Let me finish, idiot. So, yeah, we saw each other today. He took me out to dinner and, swear to God, he was so sweet. He even insisted on paying — ugh, I’m not used to that...”
Ryota chuckles. “I pay for your food.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, you do, sometimes, but I’m not talking about you. Anyway, after dinner we went back to his place. One thing led to another and we ended up having sex, but I...” you stop. You stare into nothing, your voice dropping with every word. Then his hand moves your hair aside, gently encouraging you to go on. And you do. “I... didn’t feel anything. Absolute nothingness, you know? So he noticed, started spiraling like ‘don't you like me?’, but how do I tell him that I just can’t fall in love? God, I hate myself.”
You both stay quiet for a while. Even though Ryota’s completely different from you, he’s never really fallen in love either. But for him, it’s a choice, for you, it’s not — and he knows that. So he never compares your situations. Instead, he strokes your cheek and sighs softly. “Aaah... maybe you should just stop looking for the love of your life. Why are you so obsessed with it?”
Even if his words sting a little, he’s right — and you know it. You look at him with your tired eyes. “I don’t know... I just want to feel what everyone else feels.”
Ryota smiles softly. “Everyone except you and me.”
“Yeah, but that’s because you’re a fucking idiot who doesn’t want to. I just can’t. It’s different,” you snap, looking away, slightly annoyed. He takes the chance and leans in closer. The closeness doesn’t bother you — actually, it warms you. After all, you’re used to it.
“Don’t know which one of us is worse,” he murmurs. Then he presses his forehead against your temple and keeps going, “but either way, we’re both idiots.”
You feel his warm breath tickling your ear, his hand stroking your body from shoulder to waist, his eyes locked on you.
And no matter how much you lie to yourself, your body can’t help but react.
You’ve always thought Ryota was handsome. And you’ve even told him, a few times. But friends do that, right? And yet, what you feel when he’s this close to you, or when he’s holding you on top of him on his bed, or when he hugs you after a game, still sweaty... no one else has ever made you feel that. That mix of butterflies and heat.
“It’s normal,” you tell yourself. You’ve always felt that ache in your stomach. Since the first time you saw him.
And since right now all you want is to be with him, without thinking about anything else, you push those thoughts away. Like you always do.
But you won’t be able to ignore them forever.
You keep your gaze down and press closer to him, your hand caressing his arm from under the blanket. “Two idiots, huh? Maybe.” You let out a bitter little laugh.
That’s when Ryota pulls back slightly, frowning.
“Hey,” he takes your chin in his hand, just tight enough to make you lift your eyes to meet his, “are we gonna wake the hell up or what? You didn’t fall in love after sleeping with a guy you’ve known for, what, two weeks? Big fucking deal. At least was he any good?”
He can’t help but smirk, and you follow, laughing under your breath. You nod. “Yeah, I guess. But I’ve had better.”
At that point Ryota bursts out laughing, shaking his head and burying his face between your neck and shoulder. “Shit, then you really struck out, huh...”
Then he pulls back. “Come on, champ. I brought Kingdom Hearts. Wanna play?”
You watch him get up from the couch — the emptiness you feel when he’s not next to you almost scares you. “Nah, I’d rather watch. I know you’re dying to play it anyway.”
Ryota chuckles, bending over to dig through his backpack. “Fuck it. Sometimes I forget how well you know me.”
────୨ৎ────
Watching him play while you’re curled up against him, blanket pulled up to your chin, gives you a sense of peace that’s impossible to describe, impossible to recreate. More often than not, your gaze drifts toward him: the dim light of the old TV glows faintly across his profile, his brows drawn together in focus, eyes darting quickly — just like his fingers gripping the joystick. You can even hear his breathing. He’s so handsome, you catch yourself thinking, and immediately curse under your breath. As if it were the first time, anyway.
“Ahh, fuck! I almost had it! Did you see that?” His frustrated voice snaps you out of your forbidden thoughts, dragging you back to reality. You blink a few times.
“Oh. Oh, yeah, what a pain.”
You definitely didn’t see a thing. How can he expect you to focus on his gameplay when he’s this close?
────୨ৎ────
The TV’s been off for a while now. You’re both curled up on the couch again, only this time you’ve stretched out. Your head rests on his chest, just below his, and you can clearly hear the steady beat of his heart. His arm idly brushes against yours, and suddenly, he lets out a small snort. He grabs his phone. “It’s late. I should head out soon.”
You groan softly, shaking your head against him. “Mmh, I don’t want you to go...” you whisper, cheeks faintly flushed, a shy smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
Ryota can’t help but smile too, his fingers tightening slightly around your arm. “Clingy, huh? God, it’s been a while since you acted like this.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but decide to tease him back instead. “Come on, you like being like this with me.”
He chuckles, clearly amused by your boldness — but not surprised. He knows you can keep up with him. “Smart mouth. Yeah, you’re right,” he stretches, resting his chin on the top of your head, a lazy grin spreading across his face, “especially after a shitty day like today.”
You frown slightly, tilting your head just enough to catch his expression. “Hm? What happened?”
Ryota glances down at you, your faces now dangerously close. His tone softens a little. “Nothing special. Just my mom getting pissed ‘cause I still haven’t picked a college.”
You let out a small laugh — you know how strict his mother can be. But you get it; you’re in the same boat. So, to lighten the mood, you poke at him. “Yeah, I get it. You’re too busy thinking about basketball or hanging out with random girls.”
The smile returns to his face, his eyes never leaving yours. Then he shakes his head. “Nah, I haven’t done that in a while.”
For some reason, that catches you off guard. Then you arch a brow, skeptical.
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Guess I just don’t feel like it.”
“You? Miyagi Ryota? Impossible.”
“Maybe someone’s been keeping me too busy.”
Your breath hitches. Then you shoot back,
“Maybe you’re not obliged to hang around that someone.”
He smirks.
“How could I not? It’s what I want.”
That’s too much. You might know how to keep up with him, but when he whispers things like that just a breath away, your face heats up instantly. You lower your head, hiding it against him as a triumphant grin curls on his lips. He’s won — and to celebrate, he takes it a step further, lifting your chin with two fingers until you’re forced to look at him. Your lips are once again inches apart.
He’s so good at playing with me, you think, because every time he acts like this, your heart bursts into flames. After all this time, Ryota knows exactly what drives you crazy.
But you know what he likes, too.
You pout, though you don’t break eye contact. Something in his gaze shifts. Then your voice comes out, a whisper. “You’re mean... always cornering me like this...”
That cocky, confident smirk on his face falters for a second, replaced by something nervous. He quickly recovers, raising a brow but keeping close. “Cornering you, huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
His calm tone slices through the silence. You smile, barely holding yourself together. Your breaths are already mingling, your eyes locked like they’ve forgotten how to look anywhere else. “Wouldn’t you like to know...” you whisper again, knowing that your fake innocence drives him insane.
You notice his gaze flicker between your lips and your eyes a few times, and that’s all it takes for your resolve to crack. Your cheeks have been pink for a while now, but your eyes widen just a little — and he notices. A smirk tugs at his mouth. “You don’t know how to play. Not with me, anyway,” he murmurs.
And then, he leans in.
When he does, your little fortress of confidence collapses. His head tilts slightly, your foreheads touching, your noses brushing. The hand holding your face now moves, his thumb tracing your jaw with a touch so gentle it steals the breath from your lungs. For all his confidence, Ryota always touches you like you’re made of glass — as if he’s afraid he might break you.
His eyes lock with yours. You can’t look away — you’re frozen, utterly captivated by him. He’s never gone this far before. And deep down, you know you can’t resist him.
When your gaze drops to his lips, a soft laugh escapes him, bursting the silent bubble of tension between you.
“I’m just messing with you, dummy. You almost fell for it this time, huh?”
He pulls away, and your eyes widen instantly. Oh. Right. He was just teasing. Of course he was. So why is your heart racing so fast? Why does it hurt a little? Why does it feel like you were hoping for something else?
Before you can say anything, Ryota stands up, leaving behind a void you can feel. “It’s late. I’m heading home. See you in a few days.”
When you turn to look at him, he’s already slinging his backpack over his shoulder. You can’t even string together a coherent thought — he’s scrambled your brain completely. When your eyes meet, you force a small smile, pretending nothing happened. You nod quickly, muttering something like, “Okay, see you,” on autopilot.
You watch in silence as he waves. “Sleep well,” he murmurs, giving you a warm smile before closing the door behind him.
The moment you’re alone, you collapse back onto the couch cushions, face burning, heart racing like you’ve just finished a marathon. Your mind still hasn’t fully processed what just happened, but your body reacts anyway — and God, it leaves you so confused, so small compared to him and the quiet confidence he carries in himself.
“He really just left me like that... after that?”
────୨ৎ────
The next day, you try your best to ignore the fact that you barely slept last night because you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Like some kind of curse, Ryota haunted your mind for hours — over and over again, replaying what you said to each other, how you touched, how close your faces got until it drove you completely insane.
I shouldn’t feel like this, you keep telling yourself, trying to convince your own brain that whatever this is, it’s not real. But you can’t help it — he’s the only one who knows how to play you like a damn puppet. And the worst part? You don’t even mind.
You’ve been pushing that thought away for ages, pretending you’ll deal with it tomorrow. And in the meantime, you’ve just been enjoying this perfect friendship — heart flutters and all. Except, those flutters have always left you confused. And the way he acted yesterday? It messed you up so bad you’re not even sure who you are right now.
“What the hell am I supposed to do? I never even told him how I feel...” you mumble under your breath, curled up in bed. The cool May breeze drifts through the open window, brushing your skin and making you shiver. You sigh, dragging yourself up to close it, but as you pull the curtains shut, you hear your phone buzz on the mattress behind you.
Your eyes widen. Your heart skips a beat. You grab your phone — one message. Then two. Then three.
Of course. It’s him.
- check what i sent u
shits hilarious
also why u ghostin me since this morning
A fourth one pops up.
- yooo bitchhh
Great, you think. Why does facing your best friend suddenly feel so terrifying? The way he’s pretending nothing happened annoys you more than it should. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He always does.
Another ping. A fifth message.
- usually when u act like this u mad at me or sum?
That one gets you. Your fingers move before your brain can stop them.
- no im not mad
just
what the hell was that thing yesterday?
- what thing?
“Oh, now he’s playing dumb,” you mutter.
- are u tryna piss me off?
come on
u were this close
- and u didnt seem to mind
did u??
Your pulse spikes. But you can’t stop typing.
- you re wrong
you confuse me ryota
He takes a second to reply. You can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose — to torture you — or if he’s actually thinking about it.
- now im confusing u huh?
we ve been like this for
idk
forever
we re friends
As much as you hate to admit it, Ryota is right. But not completely. That’s enough to give you the courage to fire back.
- do friends act like that??
- tf did u just wake up or smth lol
we ve always been kinda weird
u never complained
neither did i
i like how we are
You lock your phone and hold your breath. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like your chest might actually explode. That image of him — so close — keeps flashing in your head, and your stomach twists into that painfully familiar warmth. You grab your phone again, exhaling shakily.
- dont you feel anything?
like... when you get that close or whatever
You panic and lock your phone again — but the reply comes almost instantly.
- wait so you do??
ayyy someone s catchin feelings
:))
“God, he’s so annoying,” you groan, flopping back onto your pillow, face on fire, lips in a pout. You don’t even know what to say. You’re too flustered to do anything.
And of course, Ryota knows that. Which is why he keeps going.
- anyway yeah
obviously
what about u
You blink, staring at the screen. Wait — what? Did Ryota just admit he feels something? Like, the same thing you’ve felt since the day you met him?
Now you need to know.
- idk how to describe it
its... weird??
but u make me feel warm
- lol
when were u gonna tell me that?
- no when were YOU gonna tell me
you act like its no big deal
- cause its not
but hey im human too
sooo maybe next time we just try it
Time stops.
Your heart is racing, your pulse wild, and even though he didn’t spell it out — you already know. Still, you play dumb. Because you can’t believe it.
- try what?
- kissing
And there it is.
You freeze. Your cheeks burn, your body feels hot, and your heart’s pounding so fast it hurts. After years of friendship, he just says something like that — like it’s nothing.
- u r not normal
what the fuck is wrong with you
- cmon why not
its just a test
- are you serious??
dont even joke about that
- bet ur all red right now
lol fine i ll stop
cant have u fainting on me
You can’t even bring yourself to reply.
This conversation doesn’t feel real — and yet there it is, glowing white on your phone screen. You lock it and toss it across the bed, as if putting distance between you and that device could somehow help you figure out what the hell is going on. You pull the covers up until only your eyes are visible — wide open, unblinking. Meanwhile, your heart won’t slow down, hammering hard against your ribs, and the anxiety bubbling in your chest feels nothing like the usual swarm of butterflies.
Ryota said “kissing”.
Why did he say that? Why would he bring up something like that? And most of all, where was he even trying to go with it? Does he actually want to kiss me? you think — and immediately shake your head, pushing the thought away because it’s ridiculous. He’s obviously messing with you. That’s just... you two. That’s what you do. So why does it feel different this time? Why does it feel real?
He’s never talked that openly about kissing you — never crossed that line in words. Sure, he’s teased you before, pushed your buttons until you wanted to scream, but right after, he’d always find a way to make it up to you. Because yeah, Ryota loves to mess with you — but even more than that, he loves taking care of you.
It almost feels like it isn’t Ryota. Or maybe it’s just a side of him you’ve never seen before.
And it’s throwing you off — badly. You can’t tell if he’s just trying to mess around... or if he actually meant it. If he really wants to kiss you.
And if he does... would you let him?
You don’t even know the answer to that yourself.
As exciting as the thought might be, fear and common sense hit harder. He’s your best friend. Always has been. You care about him more than you’ve ever cared about anyone else. You’ve shared everything together: your firsts, your screw-ups, your teenage chaos, school drama, family messes, breakdowns, wins, losses — all of it. So much that if you tried to write it all down, you’d still be scribbling by the time you hit retirement.
You know he cares about you too. You’re his everything — the person who’s always there, the one he runs to when things fall apart, the one he trusts with every piece of himself.
No matter how many times you fight, you always end up in each other’s arms again, too stubborn to properly apologize, because you don’t need to. You just... get it. You love each other. For real. You’re practically made for each other — a perfectly tangled, platonic love that people envy. Almost sibling-like... or maybe even more precious than that.
There’s not a single day you don’t think of each other. Not a single moment when you actually want to be apart. You’re each other’s light, each other’s constant. You need him as much as he needs you — and that’s just how it’s always been.
Jacaerys Velaryon x sister!reader - House of the Dragon
Summary: After years away Jacaerys comes home to King's Landing to join the realm in celebrating his sister's eighteenth name day. While watching lords swarm her and vie for her hand, he realises it should've always been him.
Warnings: 18+ SMUT no war au, EVENTUAL SMUT, targcest (reader is Daemon and Rhaenyra's daughter), lovemaking in the sky (srry Vermax), p in v, kinda handjob/fingering (both rec), manhandling, implied loss of virginity, kinda naive/innocent reader, alcohol
A/N: Rhaenyra is queen and they're all aged up -> reader is 18, Jace is unspecified but older. (i saw someone have a headcanon abt fucking on dragon back but i cant remember who, but its out there somewhere trust)
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (open) - WC: 5.4k
The castle has never been quiet on your name day.
From the moment the sun rises over Blackwater Bay the Red Keep hums with the kind of life that belongs only to celebrations.
Servants weave through its corridors, balancing polished silver and bolts of embroidered silk, cooks bark orders from kitchens already thick with the scent of roasting meats and sweet pastries, and somewhere below your window a quartet of musicians have spent the better part of an hour arguing over the same melody.
The sound drifts through the open casement in uneven bursts, carried on the warm summer breeze before it dissolves into the cries of gulls circling the harbour.
It is all for you.
Eighteen.
The number sits strangely in your mind. Lords who once ruffled your hair now bow a fraction lower. Ladies who used to coo at you now ask after your gowns and favourite jewels. Every smile feels just a little too measured, every compliment just a little too deliberate.
But you don't care, because all you're thinking about is Jacaerys.
And he is late.
Well, not truly. The sun has scarcely reached its highest point and no one expected him before midday, but that does little to quiet the restless anticipation thrumming beneath your skin.
It has been nearly two years.
At first the months passed quickly enough. Letters arrived regularly, each bearing your eldest brother's unmistakably careful hand, filled with dutiful accounts of the Riverlands, the Vale, or White Harbour. Tucked inside each letter had been some little trinket that reminded him of you; polished amber gathered along the eastern coast, a tiny wolf carved from pale weirwood by a Northern craftsman, a silver hairpin so delicately wrought that you had been terrified of wearing it the first time.
The gifts had never mattered.
You would have traded every last one simply to hear him laugh across the training yard again.
"Still waiting?"
The familiar voice draws your attention from the road.
Your mother stands a few paces behind you, sunlight catching in the silver-gold of her hair until it almost seems to glow. "I am merely enjoying the view," you reply, with all the dignity you can manage.
Rhaenyra arches a brow. "The view of the Kingsroad?"
"It is a very fine road."
She laughs then, the sound soft and knowing. "You have been watching that very fine road since dawn."
You sigh dramatically, resting your chin upon folded arms. "He promised."
"And Jacaerys has never broken a promise to you."
"No," you admit, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "He has not."
Then, finally, a horn sounds somewhere below.
The guards upon the gatehouse shift, peering out across the road before one suddenly straightens.
"Dragon!"
Every head upon the walls turns skyward.
Your heart leaps into your throat before your eyes have even found him.
Vermax appears, cutting through brilliant blue with powerful, measured strokes of emerald wings. Sunlight catches across his scales, throwing flashes of bronze and green over the city below as he wheels above the Red Keep. He is larger than you remember.
So is the rider upon his back.
"Gods be good," Rhaenyra murmurs behind you, though there is laughter in her voice already. You are halfway down the nearest staircase before she can finish the sentence.
The courtyard erupts into motion as Vermax settles with a thunderous beat of wings, servants scattering instinctively while guards struggle to look composed in the face of a dragon. Dust billows across the flagstones, catching in your skirts as you weave between startled courtiers, heedless of the calls following after you.
Jace has barely swung one leg over the saddle when he hears his name, he turns just in time to see a blur of deep crimson silk racing across the courtyard.
You collide with him hard enough to force him back a step.
The laugh leaves him before he can stop it.
Strong hands find your waist out of pure instinct, lifting you clean from the ground as though no time has passed at all, as though you are still the little girl forever launching yourself at him from staircases and behind pillars in hopes of catching him unaware.
Your feet dangle a good foot above the flagstones, your arms looped comfortably around his shoulders.
"You'll knock me over one day," he says, laughter still colouring every word.
Up close he looks older. The softness that once lingered around his face has sharpened into something unmistakably princely, the line of his jaw more defined beneath the dust of travel, his hair longer than before where the sea wind has escaped the leather tie at the nape of his neck.
He lowers you carefully back onto your feet.
Both hands rise to cradle your face with easy affection, his thumbs brushing absent-mindedly against your cheeks.
His expression softens. "You've grown."
"So have you."
A quiet laugh escapes him.
"I should hope so."
Before you can answer, he bends to press a familiar kiss against your forehead. You simply grin and lean briefly into the touch before stepping back, and he slings an arm around your shoulders, leading you back inside.
Neither of you notices Prince Daemon watching from the gallery above, and neither of you notices the faintest curve beginning at the corner of his mouth.
By the time the sun has slipped beneath the horizon the Great Hall glows beneath a hundred candles.
Music spills from the gallery above in soft, lilting melodies. Gold catches in polished plates, jewelled collars and the circlets worn by lords who have travelled from every corner of the realm to honour the queen's youngest daughter.
Jace has attended more feasts than he can remember.
They have blurred together over the years into a procession of banners and vows, polite smiles and carefully chosen words, each hall distinguished only by the sigil hanging above the high table.
Tonight should be no different.
Instead, he finds himself searching for you before he has even crossed the threshold.
You stand near the queen's chair while one of the ladies fusses with the sleeve of your gown, silver thread shimmering against deep burgundy velvet. Your hair has been left half unbound, pale waves falling over your shoulders in the old Valyrian fashion, catching the candlelight each time you laugh at something Baela says beside you.
You have always laughed with your whole face. That, at least, has not changed.
The feast begins in earnest soon after.
Your mother rises to speak, her words carrying easily across the hall as she welcomes those who have come to celebrate your name day. You sit at her right hand, smiling with the restrained grace expected of a princess, though every now and then your attention wanders, your eyes finding Jace somewhere further down the table.
Each time they do, you smile exactly as you always have.
Lord Rowan's youngest son cannot be much older than five-and-twenty.
Jace remembers meeting him briefly in the Reach; a courteous enough man with an easy smile and an unfortunate tendency to speak longer than necessary. Now he watches as the knight bows over your hand with every appearance of propriety, offering some finely wrapped gift that earns a laugh from you.
You thank him warmly.
The young lord moves away eventually, replaced almost immediately by another.
Then another.
A Lannister cousin. The heir to a minor Crownlands house. A knight from Driftmark whose name escapes him entirely.
Each offers congratulations and smiles, looking at you with unmistakable admiration. It is perfectly reasonable, you are a princess. after all, one who has just turned eighteen.
You are also beautiful, a treacherous corner of Jace's mind supplies.
"They are circling already." Rhaena speaks softly across the table, amusement dancing in her eyes as she follows his line of sight.
Jace frowns. "What do you mean?"
"The suitors." He says nothing. "The realm has been waiting for this birthday almost as eagerly as she has."
In that moment, Jace understands has been absent too long, and the little girl forever racing after him through the corridors of Dragonstone no longer exists outside his memory.
The woman seated at the queen's right hand does.
Some distant part of him, the dutiful prince who has spent years weighing every decision against the good of the realm, should perhaps be appalled by what has just taken root in his mind.
Instead, he is struck only by how little it surprises him.
'If a husband is to stand beside you one day... why should it be anyone but me?'
The feast dwindles by degrees.
One by one the visiting lords excuse themselves. The Great Hall grows quieter with every passing hour until only family and the queen's closest councillors remain, lingering more from habit than obligation.
Jace has scarcely taken three steps beyond the hall when Ser Lorent inclines his head.
"The Queen requests your presence, my prince."
The solar is warm despite the hour, lit by a scattering of candles that throw long shadows across maps and parchment left strewn over the great table. His mother stands beside the open window overlooking the bay, one hand resting against the carved stone.
Daemon lounges opposite her with infuriating ease, a goblet balanced loosely between his fingers.
Neither appears surprised to see him.
"You wished to see me?"
"I did." She gestures for him to come closer. "We were discussing your sister."
"Has something happened?"
"No," Daemon answers before Rhaenyra can speak. "Nothing has happened."
"Yet," Rhaenyra mutters.
Daemon ignores her. "Your sister is eighteen."
"I am aware."
"A great many others are as well."
Jace says nothing.
"The feast made that abundantly clear. It also made clear it is time we considered suitable matches."
Jace nods once. Rhaenyra watches him closely. "So," she says gently, "what would you advise?"
"My advice?"
"You have travelled more of the realm than either of us these past years. You know its young heirs better than most."
Jace considers it carefully, because that is what is expected of him, because he has spent his whole life learning how to answer as the heir before he ever remembers how to answer as himself.
"There are worthy men," he finally scrapes out. Rhaenyra gives a small nod as though she had expected nothing less.
Jace continues, "The son of House Rowan conducted himself well in the Reach. The Redwynes would strengthen our position in the south. The Celtigars remain loyal."
At that, Daemon exhales through his nose with open disdain, swirling the wine lazily around his cup.
“Boring.”
Jace turns to him, frowning. “Excuse me?”
“You are answering as the heir,” Daemon says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. “I am asking the man.”
He looks between his mother and Daemon, trying to decide whether he has missed some crucial piece of context, and finds only that strange, infuriating look on Daemon’s face.
“What exactly are you asking me?” Jace says at last.
Daemon studies him for a long moment. "Which of those boys would you choose for her?"
Jace exhales quietly. "I could not say."
"You have met most of them."
"I know them as lords."
Daemon leans back. "But not well enough to know which one deserves to share her bed."
The words strike the room like a thrown dagger. Rhaenyra closes her eyes for a brief, pained moment, as though she can already feel the shape of the disaster coming and would very much like to stop it before it begins.
“Daemon...”
“What?” he asks mildly, with all the innocence of a man who has never once been innocent in his life. “The point of a political match is to produce heirs, and that is generally how marriages produce heirs.”
Jace says nothing.
Daemon watches him for another long moment, “I do not believe you could bear it,” he says at last.
The silence deepens.
“I beg your pardon?” Jace manages, barely.
“I do not believe,” Daemon repeats, his voice calm and level, “that you could bear another man laying hands upon her.”
Rhaenyra straightens at once. “Daemon.”
“I do not believe you could bear another man kissing her.”
“Enough.”
“I do not believe you could bear watching her swell with another man’s children.”
Jace feels the blood drain from his face, every muscle in him going rigid as if he has been struck.
“And I certainly do not believe,” he continues, his tone infuriatingly calm, “that you could stomach another man teaching her what it is to be loved.”
“Daemon.”
Rhaenyra’s voice is sharper now, edged with warning, but the prince merely lifts one hand in a gesture that is almost dismissive, never once taking his eyes from Jace.
“Am I wrong?”
Jace opens his mouth but nothing comes. Because the horror of it is not that Daemon has imagined such things, it is that Jace has.
Daemon’s mouth curves, just slightly.
“I...” Jace begins, and then abandons the sentence entirely, because there is no sentence that can save him now.
“You love her.”
It is not a question.
“You are so thoroughly, catastrophically in love with her that you have spent an entire evening glaring at boys who merely smiled in her general direction.”
Finally Rhaenyra rounds on him. “You cannot simply accuse our son of being in love with his sister.”
Jace would gladly vanish into the stone floor if the gods would be so merciful. Instead he stands rooted where he is while the two most formidable people in the realm discuss him as though he were not present.
“He is miserable,” Daemon says, finally turning his head to look at her. “Because half the realm has suddenly decided my daughter is fit to wed.”
Rhaenyra folds her arms more tightly. “And that does not concern you?”
“Of course it concerns me, hence why we are having this conversation.”
She stares at him in open disbelief. “You cannot seriously believe this is the best solution.”
Daemon raises an eyebrow. “Find me a better man.”
“The point is not whether he is a good man.”
“No?”
He waits. She opens her mouth, clearly intending to explain, and then stops, because whatever argument she had prepared has already begun to collapse under the weight of its own hypocrisy.
“You married your uncle.”
Rhaenyra points a finger at him. “That is entirely beside the point.”
Jace, who has thus far wished for nothing more than escape, finally exhales, very quietly, and when both of them turn to him he feels the full weight of their attention settle over him.
“With respect, Mother...” he says, and both of them look at him with identical expressions of wary expectation. He swallows, then presses on before he can lose his nerve. “...he does have you there.”
Rhaenyra blinks. “You are taking his side?”
“I am merely observing...” The faintest smile threatens despite himself, because if he does not laugh he may very well scream. “...that you did, in fact, marry your uncle.”
The silence that follows is brief, but heavy in a way that feels almost ceremonial, as though something unseen has just shifted its weight in the room and no one is yet willing to acknowledge it.
Rhaenyra is the first to recover.
“This is not something decided in a solar with three people and a bottle of wine.”
Jace shifts slightly where he stands, still trying to understand how he has become the subject of something that feels suspiciously like a verdict. “Mother,” he begins cautiously, “if this is about-”
“It is about nothing yet,” Rhaenyra cuts in quickly, sharper than intended, then exhales and forces her tone back down. “It is about considering what is best for her future.”
Daemon makes a quiet sound of amusement, leaning back in his chair as if the entire matter has already concluded and he is simply waiting for the rest of them to catch up.
“Then consider it done. I am her father and I have found a match for her.”
Rhaenyra’s gaze snaps to him. “Excuse me?”
“You asked for a good man,” Daemon says, as though repeating something painfully obvious.
“You cannot simply decide this,” Rhaenyra says, though even she sounds less certain than before.
“I can,” Daemon replies. “And I have.”
A beat.
Then, almost lazily, he adds, “Unless you intend to send her to some Reachling with soft hands and softer loyalties.”
Rhaenyra’s expression hardens. “Do not reduce this to-”
“To what?” Daemon interrupts, finally straightening in his chair. The amusement in him sharpens now, not into anger, but something more focused. “Politics? That is what you are trying to do. I am simply being honest about it. She is our daughter, Rhaenyra.”
Silence again.
He walks a few steps toward the window, looking out over the Blackwater as if the conversation has already moved past him.
“She stays within the family,” he says casually, almost conversationally, as though discussing ship routes. “She stays where she is known. Where she is protected. Where she is not bartered to men who would mistake her for an opportunity.”
Jace clears his throat once.
“If I may-”
“No,” both of them say at once.
He stops.
Daemon turns slightly, looking at him now with something like faint approval.
“You will marry her,” he says simply.
Jace looks at him with wide eyes, “Are you being serious?”
Rhaenyra closes her eyes again, slower this time, as though bracing for impact.
“I refuse to send my daughter away,” Daemon states. His gaze shifts briefly to Jace, sharp and unblinking.
The room goes still.
Jace should object. He should say something about choice, about propriety, about the absurdity of making such decisions in this manner.
“She does not even know we are having this conversation.”
Daemon’s smile returns, slow and infuriatingly certain.
“No,” he agrees. “She does not. And you will tell her, Jacaerys. Better you than either of us."
“And if she refuses?”
“She won't.”
Vermax takes to the sky just after dawn, when the castle is still half-swallowed in morning mist and the water below reflects a pale gold.
The world feels quieter from above, stretched thin and distant, as though all the noise of court and council has been left behind somewhere on the stone below.
You do not question it when Jace comes for you. You never have.
He arrives without ceremony in the inner courtyard where the dragonkeepers have already prepared Vermax for flight.
“You want to go flying?” He asks simply, as if it is an ordinary thing to offer a princess on the morning after her name day feast.
Your smile comes easily. “I always want to go flying.”
That earns the faintest curve of his mouth. He helps you mount with practised ease, hands steady at your waist as you swing your leg over Vermax’s neck.
Then he climbs up behind you.
The moment he settles into place, the world shifts; you can't help but be aware of the warmth at your back, the solid presence of him there, closer than anyone else has ever been permitted to be in this way. One arm reaches around you instinctively to secure the reins while the other steadies you at your side, palm firm against your ribs.
“You are sitting differently,” you note, turning your head slightly to glance at him.
His expression is unreadable for a moment, then softens. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
Here, there is nothing between you but wind and sky and the steady rise and fall of Vermax’s wings beneath you.
He gives the command, and Vermax launches forward.
The world slowly drops away.
Wind tears at your hair, pulling laughter from your chest without permission, and you lean instinctively into Jace’s grip as Vermax climbs higher, circling the coast before cutting out over open water.
His arm tightens around you without hesitation.
Somewhere behind you, you feel rather than see him adjust his hold, pulling you slightly closer against him as the wind sharpens at altitude. It is automatic, the same instinct that has always placed him between you and anything that might hurt you.
You tilt your head back slightly, just enough to speak over the rush of air. “I like it when you come home,” you admit, without thinking much of it. “Everything feels louder when you are not here.”
You do not see the way his eyes linger on you again. The way they soften in a manner that has nothing to do with duty.
You are laughing at something Vermax does mid-turn when he speaks.
“I am not leaving again.”
The words take a moment to settle. You glance over your shoulder slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”
There is a pause so brief you almost miss it. “They have decided something.”
That makes you laugh lightly. “Have they?”
“Yes.” The tone is careful now, though still steady.
You frown slightly. “What sort of something?” The wind howls.
“You are to be married.”
For a moment, there is only the feel of him behind you, the steady beat of Vermax’s wings, and the distant horizon that suddenly feels much further away than it did a moment ago.
You blink. “...What do you mean?”
“It has been agreed,” he says more softly. “Between our mother and Daemon.”
Your grip on the reins tightens slightly, though Vermax does not react. “Oh,” you say slowly, as if testing the shape of the word. “That is… sudden.”
“It is.”
You turn your head further now, trying to see his face properly, though the angle is awkward with the wind pulling at you. “And who-”
You stop. Because when his jaw tightens you realise you already know.
“Jace,” you say carefully. He doesn't answer, just stares ahead. "Jace. Are we to be married?"
"...Yes."
You turn fully now as much as the space allows, looking at him properly for the first time.
“You are very composed about this,” you say, attempting levity and failing to find it entirely.
His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “I had some time to think.”
The wind pulls at you again, but he shifts without thinking, bringing you closer still until there is barely any space between you at all. You are suddenly acutely aware of it; of the way his arm anchors you, of the warmth at your back, of the steady, unyielding presence of him in a place where there is nothing else to hold onto.
You swallow. “And what do you think?” you ask.
He finally looks at you. “That I would not allow anyone else to do this,” he says quietly.
Something in your chest tightens. “Do what?”
“I would never allow anyone else to stand where I stand.”
Vermax banks sharply beneath you; it sends you forward, straight into him. His arm tightens instantly, catching you before you can even think to steady yourself, and for a moment you are completely held there against him, suspended between sky and breath.
You search his face for something. Uncertainty? Jest? Anything that might soften what he has just said into something easier to carry. You find none.
Your hand rises without thinking, resting lightly against the side of his face. His breath catches, not sharply, but enough.
“Jace,” you say, and his name feels different in your mouth now. He does not answer.
For a heartbeat, there is nothing but the rush of wind and the distant cry of the sea far below.
Then he is kissing you.
Not like something uncertain or newly discovered, but like something that has finally been allowed to exist.
His hand tightens at your waist, suddenly far too close in a way neither of you can undo.
You make a small sound against his mouth, half surprise, half something you don’t yet have a name for, and it seems to undo whatever careful restraint he has been holding onto.
The arm around you shifts, pulling you back against him with a controlled urgency that sends your breath catching, your fingers instinctively curling into the front of his riding leathers as if that alone can keep you anchored.
Vermax turns beneath you and the world tilts, but Jace does not let you fall.
When you finally break just enough to breathe, it is only by a fraction, your forehead still close to his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air.
You look at him then, properly, and something in your expression seems to undo him more than the kiss itself ever could.
“This is…” you start, but the words fail you.
His thumb brushes lightly against your side where he still holds you.
“I know,” he says quietly.
The wind tears past again, colder now against your flushed skin, and you should pull away, should think, should question, should make sense of any of this.
You don't.
Instead he leans in again, lips claiming yours with a hunger that has been building since the moment he returned days ago. His mouth hot and insistent against your own.
The kiss deepens instantly, his tongue slides against the seam of your lips before you part them, letting him set the pace, and the one sets is perfect, a desperate rhythm that sends sparks racing through you.
Your fingers tangle in his dark curls, pulling him closer as his hands roam your body with possessive certainty, one sliding up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your riding leathers while the other grips your hip, anchoring you against him on Vermax's broad back.
The dragon soars higher, the sea a glittering expanse far below, but all you can feel is the hard press of Jace's body.
You moan into the kiss, the sound swallowed by the rushing air and the steady beat of wings, as Jace shifts you effortlessly onto his lap, your legs straddling his.
His tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of your mouth with an intensity that makes warmth gather in your belly, wetness already soaking your undergarments.
"You know," he breathes against your lips, his voice rough, "you're mine now. Always have been."
You let him move you as he pleases, but soon you can feel the way his cock strains against his breeches, thick and insistent against your thigh.
"Are you alright?"
You can only nod shakily, letting your head find the hollow of his shoulder.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Jace."
His hand slips between your bodies, fingers deftly undoing laces to find your slick folds, stroking you slow and gathering your wetness on his fingers.
Then he reaches to free himself, hot and heavy as you wrap your fingers around him. He covers your hand with his own, guiding your hand to stroke him slowly.
"We should probably stop." he grits out.
You whine in response, "No, Jace please. I don't want to stop."
Jace lifts you higher, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance.
"You tell me if that changes, okay."
"Yes."
"Promise me." He tilts your head towards him, holding your eyes with his own.
"I promise." With that he thrusts upward in one smooth motion, burying himself deep inside you with a groan that vibrates through his chest into yours.
The fullness stretches you perfectly, every ridge and vein of him dragging against your inner walls as he begins to move.
"Gods you're tight." He grunts, his hands gripping to guide your hips in a grinding rhythm that matches the dragon's powerful wingbeats.
Pleasure coils tight in your core, building with each thrust, the wind caressing your exposed skin where leathers have been shoved aside, breasts pressed to his chest, nipples hard from the chill and his touch.
His mouth finds yours again, the kiss messy and passionate, tongues tangling as he fucks into you over and over.
You can feel it — his claim, his love, his protection — in every thrust.
He feels you start to tighten around him, one hand fisting your hair to make you look at him. His eyes are wild, hair messed by wind and jaw clenched to tight its a wonder its not cracked.
"Not yet my love. Hold on for me."
"I cannot, Jace." You gasp, hand flying to his shoulder in desperation.
"Yes, you can." He coos, pulling your face up to meet his in another kiss, this one softer, coaxing you to match him as his thrusts grew harsher, rougher.
Only then does his hand move from your hair, snaking down to find where your bodies are joined. He rubs tight, deliberate circles that have you arching into him.
"Jace, please, it's too much."
"Okay, you can come now."
You do, raw ecstasy filling your body as you shatter around him, crying out his name into the endless sky.
Your eyes shut, body going completely slack against his for the trembling that claims you. Your legs are shaking where they're slotted around his hips.
"Good girl, just like that. Let me take care of you." He says as his thrusts get harder, his hands now assisting to pull you down to meet them.
Then, his pace grows erratic, and you can feel his breathing is more laboured as it hits your temple.
With one final thrust he goes rigid, following you over the edge, pulsing hot and deep within you. His arms wrap around you, the world reduced to the two of you and the endless blue above the waves.
Jace is the first to move.
It is small at first, almost hesitant, as if he is afraid that shifting even slightly might undo something irreparable.
His hand, which had been steady at your waist only moments ago, loosens just enough for him to adjust you more carefully against him, pulling off his cloak and draping it around your shoulders with a gentleness that feels entirely at odds with the fact that you are both still several thousand feet and he's still inside you.
“You’re cold,” he says, though it sounds more like something he needs to believe than something he has observed.
“I’m fine,” you reply automatically.
He doesn’t look reassured.
Instead, he shifts again, this time lifting you off him with a hiss and placing you in front of him on the saddle again.
“You didn’t have to-” he starts.
You tilt your head slightly. “Have to what?”
The words seem to catch somewhere behind his teeth, like everything he might say is either too much or not enough.
“Do that,” he settles on finally, quieter now. “Like that.”
You blink at him, trying to follow. “Jace.”
His jaw tightens slightly at the sound of his name, but he doesn’t look away.
“It should not have been like that,” he says, and there is something carefully restrained in his voice now, something that feels like it has been pushed down hard. “Your first time should have been-” He exhales through his nose, frustrated with himself more than anything else. “Well, for starters, not in the sky.”
For a moment, you just stare at him. “You think I am going to complain because it was in the sky?”
“I am serious,” he says.
“I know you are,” you reply, smiling faintly. “That’s the problem.”
He blinks once.
You shift slightly in his arms so you can see his face more clearly, even as Vermax continues his smooth, unbothered flight beneath you both.
“I do not need it to be… whatever you are imagining it should have been,” you continue, voice softening now, grounding into something steadier. “I did not think about it being in a bed or a room or anywhere else."
"You must've had some fantasy, something you hoped for or wanted from it." He presses, seemingly not content with your reassurance.
"Jacaerys, I wanted it to be you.”
That quiets him completely.
“That is not-” he starts. “It is,” you interrupt gently.
A pause.
Then, quieter, almost teasing now that you have his full attention again, “Besides, I think I will remember this more than if it had been in a bed.”
Something like a reluctant sound leaves him, half laugh and half exhale, and the tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction.
“You are certain?” he asks after a moment.
"Of course."
IYou lean back into him properly, letting the wind rush past as Vermax carries you both forward, the world still impossibly wide beneath you and forever changed.
hes so sweet ik it (but also lowkey freaky) also I knowww people have mixed feeling abt targcest and im sorry but it felt sooo perfect for this fic
SUMMARY: A prince washes up on the shore outside your cottage, and you must decide whether you’re going to leave him to his fate or save his life. Either way, you know there will be consequences.
WARNINGS: fem!reader, commoner!reader, eventual dragonseed!reader, jace lives, eventual smut, class differences (jace is obviously a prince and reader is a commoner). Reader is not too fond of him at first because she is from Sharp Point. This is a bit of a mix of show canon and book canon in that Jace went to the Gullet to save his brothers and Rhaena still claimed Sheepstealer
AUTHOR'S NOTES: i HADDDD to do a fic for our beloved boy </3 i miss you jacaerys velaryon, prince of dragonstone, heir to the iron throne. I will truly never move on from this death </3 so we need a world where he does not die. I'm saur excited for this because it's my first time writing a reader who comes from a commoner background, AND I finally get to write the dragons ... originally she was not supposed to be a dragonseed, but I just cannot help myself. If I'm going to be writing a hotd era fic, our girl is going to have a dragon. ANYWAY I hope you guys enjoy! please leave a comment or reblog mwah mwah
You wonder whether it is chance or divine intervention that a Targaryen prince washes ashore beside your cottage.
By the time you get to the edge of the sea after catching a glimpse of the corpse from your porch, it is half buried in the wet sand, lying limp at your feet, and there is a lump in your throat that you cannot seem to swallow away.
You do not know how you didn’t notice the sigil sooner.
It should have been the first thing that caught your eye, considering it was only a fortnight past that the Prince Aemond brought the great dragon Vhagar over the town you were raised in and razed it to the ground. The green and gold banners have been flying over the area since, and soldiers from the Reach have been constantly patrolling the roads, seeking out rebels and sympathizers.
You know better than to involve yourself in the affairs of any man that dons the three-headed dragon, you tell yourself, trying to will yourself to walk away from the corpse before anyone can catch you standing near it.
Red or gold, black or green—it does not matter to you, the wars of nobles are graves for common folk, and you have no desire to meet an early one. You have done well enough for yourself since your father passed. You refuse to squander the life you’ve built because a prince washed up on the shore near your home.
The boy at your feet is young, you cannot help but notice—your age, perhaps—dark of hair and fair of skin. At a distance, he had looked like any other body the sea had decided to return, and your first instinct had been to rush toward him rather than avert your gaze and pretend you had seen nothing.
Your hands tremble at your sides, and you have to forcibly still them as you take in a deep breath.
This is war, you recall the soldiers saying when the survivors demanded to know the reason for the tragedy that took place at Sharp Point—mothers with tears in their eyes and no bodies to bury, fathers who had lost their livelihood and the children for whom they built it, your neighbors, your friends. They say Lord Bar Emmon sits on the usurper’s council, so all of the commonfolk who were unfortunate enough to be born beneath his banners have been made to pay the price of his loyalties, allies of a queen they have never seen and casualties of a war they never chose.
This is war, they will tell you the same as they cut off your head if they see you kneeling beside this corpse and call mercy treason. Because it is always the burden of the commonfolk, paying the price of noble quarrels. Princes speak of honor and succession, of rights and oaths and stolen crowns, and it is fishermen and farmers who have to bury their dead. They will not care to hear what you have to say if they think you're affiliated with the Black queen and her supporters, just as the Prince Aemond did not care whether the people of Sharp Point had declared for the Blacks or merely happened to be born beneath the wrong lord.
But now, a prince lies dead upon your shore, and you wonder if this is how it begins again.
You should leave him.
The thought comes immediately, sensible in light of the circumstances, even if it does make your stomach flip. You should turn around and go home, bolt your door, and tell no one what you saw. The sea will reclaim him, or the crabs will pick his bones clean; maybe the patrol will stumble upon the body before the tide rises, and they can parade it through the streets the same way you heard they did to Princess Rhaenys’s dragon.
By the morning, he will be gone one way or another, and you can move on with your life as though you never saw him at all. He will be somebody else’s misfortune, or more hopefully, no one else’s at all.
It is a corpse, anyway. The boy has not moved since you arrived, and his chest does not seem to be rising and falling. There are two arrows through his shoulder, and a blueness to his lips that you’ve only seen in the dead, so—
As though to mock you, he lets out a wet, ragged cough, water bubbling at his lips, lashes fluttering just enough for you to catch sight of dark, hazy eyes that slip over you once before they slide shut again.
You feel sick to your stomach.
He does not stir again. One side of his face is bruised an ugly purple, his dark hair plastered to his brow with seawater and blood. He cannot be much older than you—the traitorous thought crosses your mind again. There is something terribly young about him, lying there half-drowned in the surf, one hand curled weakly into the sand as though, even unconscious, he is still trying to cling to something.
He does not look like a prince, you think miserably. He looks like a boy who is going to die.
The sea foams around your boots, and his body twitches as it threatens to reclaim him—the only feeble resistance he’s capable of in his state. You do not know how he still breathes—the fires might still burn on the Gullet, but the fighting ended days past. How long has he been floating about, dragged around by vicious currents and tossed by waves? It doesn’t even seem as though it should be possible, as though the Seven themselves intervened and—
—and dropped him on your shore, in your hands, and you are contemplating leaving him to die.
The thought is unpleasant, a heavy stone in your chest in place of your heart.
You are not a cruel person. You have cared for gulls with broken wings, and you leave scraps outside your door for the old orange cat that wanders the area. During the winter three years prior, you spent a fortnight nursing a lamb that did not even belong to you because you could not bear the sound of it crying.
And now there is a boy at your feet—bleeding, drowned, scarcely clinging to life—and because there is a dragon sewn onto his chest, you are trying to convince yourself to let the sea finish what arrows and war could not.
His lashes are dark against his cheek. Young, you think again, even more traitorous than the last, no older than ten and nine, if even. There is salt crusted at the corners of his mouth and blood soaking through his tunic in sluggish, rusty streams that stain the pale sand beneath him.
He looks cold—traitor, traitor, traitor.
He looks like a prince, you try to insist. A dragon prince, fire and blood and ruin, dangerous.
Cold. Hurt. Dying.
You need to walk away, you tell yourself again, desperate this time, because the longer you stand there staring at him, the more you fail to convince yourself of the correct path.
A prince's life is worth more than yours, more than your cottage and your little patch of land and the fishing boat your father left you. It is worth armies and dragons and castles and men willing to kill for a name.
If this boy lives, others will come looking for him.
And if the soldiers discover him in your home, they will not ask questions. They will not care that you found him by chance or that you never bent the knee to Queen Rhaenyra—that you could not even tell anyone why one half of House Targaryen wishes the other dead. They will see the three-headed dragon on his breast and the roof over his head, and that will be enough to condemn you.
Worse, the Prince Aemond and the dragon Vhagar could return. You think of Tom, the miller’s son, pulled from the boiling river after dragonfire reached the gristmill. You think of little Grace’s face as she searched the ashes for her mother. You think of all of your neighbors, all of your friends, who hardly survived the first time fire rained from the sky, and you think of all of those who didn’t.
He is not worth it. He is not worth the risk. A prince is only a man born with a special name, there’s no reason you should save him and condemn countless others—he bleeds the same, he dies the same, and when the Stranger comes for him, he is no more spared than any other man.
Except, he didn’t, did he?
He should be dead—any other man would be dead.
Two arrows through the shoulder, half-drowned, tossed upon the sea for days on end—there is no surviving that. Yet he breathes still, ragged and shallow though it may be, his fingers twitching every now and then.
The Stranger came for him and left empty-handed.
The Stranger came for him and left him with you.
Why?
There are no prophecies in your life, no gods whispering in your ear. You are a fisherman's daughter with a cottage by the sea and enough coin to keep yourself fed through winter if the catch is good. You know little of the gods save for the prayers your father taught you as a child and the candles you light for him on his nameday. The Seven did not save your father or your town; they did not save Tom or Grace’s mother or any of the others who screamed as dragonfire turned their homes to ash.
So why? Why this boy? Why this prince? Why should the gods spare a dragon's son when they had not spared children and fishermen and mothers? Why have they left him for you?
You do not have an answer. The only answer before you is a body on the sand, breathing when it ought not to be.
You stare down at him, furious and distressed and so, so unsure. He looks dead again—still as driftwood, cold and pale, stiff. His lips are blue like the dead, and his chest hardly rises and falls. You wonder if you imagined what you saw before. If your guilt conjured a cough where there had been none, if your conscience simply could not bear the thought of walking away even from a corpse.
Slowly, you sink to your knees beside him, damp sand clinging to your knees, the sea foam wetting your trousers. Your hand is still trembling in spite of all efforts to still it. You lift it to his throat, hesitating only for a moment.
If there is life, you will do what you must.
If there is not, you will turn and walk away.
You have never prayed for someone to be dead before.
Please, you think now miserably. Please.
Your fingers brush the skin of his throat—it is cold. He must be cold. So cold, that for a brief, terrible moment, hope flares in your chest, and then—
There is a flutter—it is weak and uneven, so faint that you almost miss it, but it is there.
Your head hangs forward, and you blink away the tears that prick in your eyes, because you know this action will have consequences. You know that there is no going back once you have entangled yourself with dragons. You know that every story told of House Targaryen ends in blood and fire and ruin for everyone foolish enough to stand too close them.
You know that this boy could be the death of you.
The soldiers could discover him. Your neighbors could discover him—as much as they care for you, they fear Vhagar more. If word spreads that a prince of the black faction lives and is hidden beneath your roof, you could hang for it. They could burn your cottage to the ground. They could drag you through the streets and call you traitor.
Worse still, he could recover.
Because then he would not be a half-dead boy on the sand. He would be a prince again. A son of the house of the dragon. He would leave, and the war would continue, and perhaps one day you would hear his name in some tavern and learn that he had mounted a dragon and burned a town much like your own.
The sea rushes forward again, cold water washing over your boots and his legs alike. He does not move. He is so cold.
“Why did you have to wash up here?” you breathe out—frustrated, angry, resigned, because you have never been one to turn your back on someone in need.
His pulse flutters once more against your fingers, and he does not stir.
Then, because the gods have a cruel sense of humor and because your heart has always been softer than your head, you slide your arms beneath the prince’s shoulders and knees.
With a soft curse and the sea at your heels, you gather the dragon prince into your arms and carry home your ruin.
—————————
He is Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra, Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne.
Three days have passed since you found him on the shore, and he has hardly stirred since you dragged him into your cottage. You have been riddled with anxiety since, jumping at every sound and fearing the worst when someone addresses you. It is only a matter of time—whenever a rider passes on the road beyond the trees or the patrol sweeps down your shore, you think they care coming for him. Coming for you.
You spend the first day trying to keep him alive.
You drag him home, soaked to the bone and half-frozen, laying him atop your bed as you get a fire going and wrap him in your blankets. For a while, you can only stand there staring at him, because it is one thing to decide not to leave a boy to die and another entirely to realize you have no idea how to save him.
You have to cut away his tunic to remove it, and it makes it easier to breathe once the three-headed dragon is out of sight, but then you have to address the monstrosity beneath it—bruises darkening one side of his ribs, yellow and purple and black, cuts everywhere, salt crusting his skin and body a ruin of blood.
You wonder how many rocks the currents slammed him into before he finally washed to shore. The sea around Sharp Point is, well, sharp. Jagged rocks and narrow inlets line the coast, and more than one fisherman has vanished into the sea after his boat drifted too close to reefs beneath the tide.
It is a cruel stretch of sea—crueler still to a boy half-dead and alone.
And then there were the arrows.
The shafts protrude from his shoulders at awful angles, the flesh around them angry and swollen. You cry while removing them, because you have never done something like it before, and your hands cannot stop shaking. A part of you wonders if the gods left him for you so that his blood could be on your hands instead, and you cannot fathom what you’ve done to deserve this.
You expect him to wake once you start removing them. At the very least, you expect him to scream. The first shaft pierced cleanly through his shoulder and is easy enough to ease out, but the second lodged itself deep in the flesh, refusing to budge until you brace your foot against the bedframe and pull with both hands.
It should have been agony—any man would have cried out.
The prince does not so much as flinch.
You remember staring at him afterward, the arrow clutched in your hand and your own cheeks wet with tears, wondering if he had died while you were removing it. You press your fingers to his throat with a panic that borders on hysteria, and you aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed when you feel the fluttering pulse still there.
A traitorous part of you wishes that he had died.
A corpse is a tragedy, but a tragedy can be dumped in the sea and abandoned. A tragedy will not bring more war to your ravaged home.
A living prince, on the other hand, is a catastrophe that you do not know what to do with. Your home has already faced ruin once, and the longer he remains in your care, the more at risk you will be of bringing it upon you all again, because if he is captured in your care, then that means war and blood and fire and more dragons. The whole town, all of the survivors, everyone will be branded traitors to the crown.
But the prince lived, so you can only hope that he will heal quick enough and be gone before you have the chance to regret helping him.
The fever comes on the second day, and the corpse in your bed finally gives to life.
You notice it when you are wiping the blood from his face, and your hand brushes his forehead. It’s as though all of the cold of the sea had fled his body at once and left only fire behind. It’s what you expect of a Targaryen prince, really—the burning heat, closer to dragon than man— it feels more natural than the cold, but you are scared anyway.
You do not know much about treating battle wounds, but you do know about fever.
Your younger brother died of it during a long winter a decade past—no matter how hard your mother worked to keep it at bay, he was dead by nightfall. Your mother passed in the same moon, to the same sickness, as did half of the children in Sharp Point, because fever does not care whether you are young or old, rich or poor, prince or peasant.
His skin is flushed, sweat beading along his brow and soaking the dark hair at his temples as he twists in the sheets violently, threatening to reopen the wounds you just stitched close. His breathing changes too—no longer the slow drags of air, shallow and erratic, like he had spent days at sea only to begin suffocating on dry land.
You fetch water from the well until your shoulders ache. You lay cloths upon his brow and change them whenever they grow warm. You feed the fire, then fear you have made him too hot and let it die down, only to panic that he would grow cold again and build it back up.
Every few minutes, you find yourself pressing your hand to his forehead or his throat, checking for fever and pulse alike. There is never a change—still alive and burning, and you don’t know whether to be grateful or terrified.
At one point, he begins muttering. You cannot make out most of it—the words are slurred, little more than broken sounds spilling from fevered lips. Names, you think. Places, maybe. Some do not seem to be spoken in the common tongue.
Once, very clearly, he whispers, "Mother.”
You have to change the cloth on his forehead afterward and pretend your eyes are not stinging with tears. You curse the gods throughout that second day—you wish that you’d never left the cottage at all the morning you found him, you wish you’d left him to die, you wish, you wish, you wish, as though any of it matters anymore.
You sleep little that night, sitting beside your bed and watching him breathe. Terrified every time his breathing slowed, and equally terrified every time it quickened. You count the moments between each breath until dawn creeps through your shutters, and by morning, you feel like you have lived a lifetime in a single night.
The third day—today—you have to make the trek into town.
You have used the last of your willow bark, and there is only a heel of stale bread left, a few onions, and enough drinking water to last another day if you’re careful. You need fruit and vegetables, more barley, and you have a catch that you never got the chance to bring to the market to trade the morning you found the prince.
You cannot put it off any longer, much as you may wish—the prince needs supplies, and unfortunately, so do you.
You do not like going into town. You have never liked going into town—you have always been fond of your neighbors and your friends, but you were not fond of the way they circle and crowd you whenever you make your weekly appearance for trade. You got overwhelmed too quickly, and you didn’t know how to make an exit without seeming rude, so you ended up staying there for hours when there were many chores you had to get done at home.
Now, it is like a graveyard. The destruction following the Prince Aemond’s attack on Sharp Point has yet to be cleared. The soldiers are too busy with war and patrols, and the survivors are too busy trying to salvage what they can of their ruined lives.
When you enter the town, you can still smell charred flesh and death.
The children usually run to you when you arrive, chattering about the games they’ve played and the rumors they’ve heard, if you saw the wild dragon Grey Ghost while you were out on your boat this week, and you smile and nod along with them. But all of the children are dead now, and you are not crowded by friends and neighbors eager to make conversation with you, because most of them are dead now too.
It is in the market when you overhear green-cloaked soldiers talking about the battle that took place in the Gullet, and you finally put a name to the face of the prince in your home. You try to pretend that you’re not eavesdropping, fingers shaking terribly as you sort through the fruits and vegetables that Wylem carted in from his farm, because you need to know if they have figured out what you’ve done, if they know the prince is in your care, under your roof.
But they only laugh as they speak of dead dragons and a mourning pretender queen. They say the Blacks have lost two dragons, and the bastard prince, Jacaerys Velaryon, is dead. Any man who can find his body washed up on the shore to deliver to the King will see unfathomable riches.
Momentarily, you are angry at yourself because the royals brought this war and have caused all of this suffering, but when your lashes flutter shut, for a split second, you can only picture the haunted look on your mother’s face as she held your dead brother in her arms. You think of Miss Ellyn, who tossed herself into the sea when she found out her son had been killed on the Kingsroad. You think of your friend, Marie, who you found screaming, fisting her infant daughter’s ashes after the burning of the town. You think of them, and then you think of the black queen on her throne, and you feel the same lump in your throat.
Then you remind yourself that this is her doing.
Her doing, her half-brother’s doing, the other nobles’ doing. They brought this war to Westeros, they brought death and destruction, fire and blood, and you force yourself to shake your head and push it all away, trading some of the fish you caught for fruits and vegetables and barley with a watery smile that you’re sure Wylem took notice of.
There are more important things to worry about: if there is a bounty on the prince’s body, everybody will be searching for him. Not just soldiers, the people too—your friends, your neighbors, everyone. Many starve, more struggle, so if there is an opportunity for gold, they will all be on the hunt. You need to burn his cloak and tunic when you get back to the cottage, anything that associates him with House Targaryen.
You nearly trip over your own feet racing back to the cottage, second-guessing every conversation you had in the town. Wylem asked you why you were getting twice as much food as you usually get—you do not remember how you responded.
Did you imply that you had a visitor? Why can’t you remember? What excuse did you give? Did the soldiers overhear? Are they following you? Do they know? Why can’t you remember? You’re scared—you do not think you’ve ever been so scared in your entire life.
You look over your shoulder every five steps, worried that they’re going to come charging after you, demanding you to bring them to the Prince Jacaerys before taking your head. You’re not cut out for this—you’re the daughter of a fisherman. There’s no world where you should be worrying whether soldiers are going to hunt you down for saving a prince.
There are tears in your eyes when you make it back to the cottage, and your fingers are trembling around the bags Wylem packed for you. You shut the door behind you, and it takes you three tries to bolt it properly. When you finally do, you rest your forehead against the wood and let out a trembling sigh.
You—
“Who are you?”
There is a knife to your throat.
You stare at the crack in the wood of your door, breath catching, desperately trying not to move lest you risk the knife slicing through your skin. The crack appeared last winter, you remind yourself, trying not to focus too much on the fact that you can feel the cool edge of the blade. Your friend, Evander, was meant to fix before the next, but Evander is dead now, and you may well be too, if the knife at your throat presses any deeper.
“Answer me, who are you? Where am I? Wh—” the prince—Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne—falters suddenly, and you can only breathe again when the knife drops from your neck, and you feel the presence at your back disappear. “You—you are a woman.”
You do not turn to look at him immediately, eyes sliding shut as you fight to steady the frantic beating of your heart, drawing one slow breath after another until your shaking eases enough to trust your legs. Your fingers tighten on the bags cradled in your arms before you force yourself to turn around.
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon stands three paces behind you, one hand braced against the edge of your table, pained, pale, barely conscious. He is bare from the waist up, and the stitches you painstakingly worked through his torn skin have pulled loose, fresh blood soaking the bandages and dripping down his chest and back.
You see more clearly in the light of the afternoon sun just how ruined his body is, bruises and cuts—you think his ribs must be broken, you did not notice just how bad off he was when you had him lying in the dim corner where you keep your bed.
For a moment, you forget that you are face-to-face with a Targaryen prince—it is only the boy you dragged in from the sea and spent hours trying to keep alive.
Your lips curve down into a deep frown, brows knitting together. You exhale as you say, “You reopened your wounds. It took me an hour to get them properly closed.”
The prince stares at you.
As soon as the words fly from your mouth, you remember who it is before you. The son of a queen. The heir to the Iron Throne, if one listens to his mother. A pretender's heir and bastard, if one listens to her enemies. You do not know which of them is right, nor do you particularly care. Such questions belong to lords and knights and people with far too much time to argue over crowns.
To the likes of you, prince is title enough for you to keep your mouth shut and your head bowed.
He does not immediately respond, gaze flicking around your cottage uncertainly. Your bed, stained with his blood. The dying hearth. The table where you left out the last bits of the bread, just in case he awoke while you were gone and was hungry. The bandages you left at his bedside. The basin of pink water you forgot to empty before leaving for town.
His lips, dry and cracked, part as he stares at you and murmurs more to himself than to you, “You tended my wounds.”
You hesitate, then nod, swallowing once. “I found you on the shore a few days past, my prince—” Your Grace? What is the proper way to address a prince? My Lord does not seem grand enough for the heir to a queen. Prince feels the safest—whatever he may be, no one seems inclined to dispute that part. “—I… you should probably be resting.”
“I need to know what happened,” he says instead, stepping closer to you. He is too pale, sweat beads at his forehead, dark curls matted to his skin. His eyes are wide and wild, pupils dilated the same way you’ve seen in men mad with grief or fear or fury, moments before lashing out at the nearest person. You find yourself tensing instinctively. “What do you know of the battle that took place on the Gullet? Did Baela make it back to Dragonstone? And Rhaena—she was on that wild dragon, and—my brothers, did my brothers make it back? How long has it been? Where are we? How far is it to Dragonstone? I must return immediately, I—”
The prince only just seems to realize how you’ve drawn away, back pressed against the door to your own home, arms tightening around the sack in your arms whenever he comes closer. His tongue darts out to wet his cracked lips, gaze flicking to the knife he dropped onto the floor and the fear in your face.
Shame crosses his expression instantly.
“I—” His expression twists as he puts space between the two of you again. You wonder whether it’s from pain or from struggling to force out an apology. Both, likely. He continues, “You have helped me—saved my life, most like—and here I am frightening you. I… I thought I’d been captured. I woke in an unfamiliar place. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know if I was a prisoner or if the battle had been lost. I heard the door open and…”
He trails off, and you stand there awkwardly, tension easing slowly from your shoulders. He is still on guard, but he does not seem so inclined to pull a blade on you again. Your lips part to tell him where he is, what little you know of the battle on the Gullet.
Instead, you ask, “Do most enemy strongholds look like a fisherman’s cottage, my prince?”
You are mortified the moment the question spills from your lips—he is a Targaryen prince, they are known for blood and fire and madness, dragons and crowns, and you speak to him as though he’s one of your peers.
Prince Jacaerys stares at you for a long moment, and then, to your astonishment, his gaze flicks around the inside of your home again, and something suspiciously like embarrassment crosses his face.
“I suppose not.”
The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself, and you let out a soft puff of air through your nose before making your way across the room to place the sack you’ve carried from town onto the table. You will have to sort all of what you’ve got later; for now, you need to get the prince resettled before he opens up any more of his wounds.
You turn to look at him again, faltering when you see the pained expression that crosses his face, so sudden that it steals all the color from his cheeks. His hand shoots to his side, fingers digging into the bandages wrapped around his ribs.
“My prince?” you ask hesitantly, taking half a step forward, arm only slightly extended. It is one thing to carry him to your cottage and treat his wounds while he’s unconscious; it is different now that he’s awake.
Prince Jacaerys inhales sharply through his teeth. He is swaying on his feet, breath gone shallow—he looks as though he’s moments from collapsing hard onto your wooden floor. Still, his jaw clenches and the muscles in his neck tighten as he draws himself upright through sheer stubbornness.
“I am fine,” he insists.
“You should sit, my prince.”
“I am standing,” he replies with a tight smile, as though a bead of sweat isn’t rolling down his temple from strain to remain upright and his lips aren’t trembling with pain.
“Barely.”
The prince blinks as though caught off guard by the response, casting a look that is partially confused, and mostly offended in your direction. Your lashes flutter shut as you brace yourself for a volatile reaction, because he is a prince and you are a fisherman’s daughter, and you are arguing with him as though he is an equal and not one of those dragon-riding royals people compose songs about. You think you must have lost your wits entirely these past few days.
Instead, he shoots back, with all the dignity he can muster while visibly swaying, "I have endured worse."
You stare at the blood soaking through the bandages wrapped around his shoulder, uncertain if you believe him. You say with less heat, "That is not the same as being well, my prince."
His jaw tightens, and you fight a sigh. Gods, he actually looks as though he is preparing an argument.
You wonder, briefly, what your life has become. Three weeks ago, your greatest concern had been whether the currents would ease up enough for you to take the boat out of the shallows to catch some fish. Now, Sharp Point has burned and you are standing in your cottage, arguing with a dragon prince about his injuries.
The absurdity of it nearly makes you laugh, wondering if perhaps this entire ordeal is some fever dream brought on by bad fish and Leila’s uncle’s dubious ale.
Then, Prince Jacaerys’s left leg buckles.
He reaches for the table and misses, injured shoulder slamming into the edge hard enough to wrench a strangled cry from him, and before you can think better of it, you're moving.
You let go of the sack of fruits and vegetables and barley you were keeping steady on your table; it topples over, and all of your pristine apples go rolling across the floor of your cottage, but you barely notice, panicked when you realize that he careening right toward the hardwood floor.
You catch the prince around the waist just as he starts to fall, but he is heavier than you expect.
You brace yourself, convinced that he is going to take you down with him, but you manage to steer him sideways toward the chair beside the table. He collapses into it heavily, breath hissing through clenched teeth as pain flashes across his face.
Momentum carries you forward with him—far, far too forward.
One hand lands against the uninjured side of his chest to steady yourself, the other gripping the arm of the chair. For a horrifying second, you are practically sprawled across the heir to the Iron Throne’s lap. You jerk away so quickly you nearly trip over one of the escaped apples, face burning and hands shaking.
"Sorry," you blurt, mortified. “Sorry. Sorry, I did not mean—”
“I believe,” Prince Jacaerys begins with a grimace, “that was my fault.”
You do not respond, flustered, trying to put more distance between you to calm yourself down. Your gaze flicks back over to him, but he is too busy grinding his teeth as he glances down at his wounds to pay you any mind. You let out a soft puff of air through your nose before you look at the apples rolling about your floor, and then reach for one still on your table—you might have lost some sense over the past three days with the little sleep you’ve gotten, but you are not about to feed a prince food off your floor.
You make your way back over to him and hold the apple out to him. He blinks once at it before his gaze lifts to yours questioningly.
“I do not know when last you ate—a while, certainly,” you tell him quietly. “You should get something in you while I redress the bandages. I’ll cook some stew once I’m certain you’re not going to bleed out.”
Prince Jacaerys exhales through his nose before he takes the apple from you, rolling it between his fingers. You step past him so that you can move the basin of water closer to where he’s sitting, grabbing a clean rag and the bandages that you left next to your bed.
You come to stand in front of him again, hesitating before you motion to the wounds on his shoulder. You ask, “May I?”
His dark gaze flicks up to yours briefly before he nods, and your throat tightens as you shift closer, fingers fumbling a bit as you grab for the edge of the bandages to unwind them from around him. It is much more intimidating doing this while he’s awake, inches away from you, and eyes tracking your every move.
“I found you three days ago, my prince,” you tell him at last, trying to remember all of the questions he asked earlier so that you can busy your mind with something other than the fact that you can feel his skin hot against yours. “Before that, the fighting died another three. In truth, my prince, I do not know how you survived so long at sea.”
Prince Jacaerys says nothing in response. His attention remains fixed somewhere beyond the wall behind you, expression distant. You suspect he is counting the days since the battle, the hours his family has believed he is dead, the minutes his mother has spent mourning him. You keep your gaze trained on his shoulder as you unwind the last of the bandages and set them down on the table.
You press your lips together when you see that the stitches have loosened at the back of his shoulder—where one of the arrows had dug deep, but not deep enough to pass cleanly through. Pulling it free had torn through muscle and flesh alike, leaving a ragged injury that had taken you nearly an hour to clean, stitch, and stop bleeding.
You exhale as you run the pad of your finger briefly over the stitches, trying to figure out if you can salvage what effort you already put in or if you would have to pull them out and redo them entirely.
“And my family? My younger brothers? Baela and Rhaena? Have you heard what has become of them?” the prince asks, and you glance up just enough to see how his jaw tightens when your finger brushes over the wound. “Did we win the battle?”
“I do not know if anyone can be said to have won that battle, my prince,” you answer quietly, tongue darting out to wet your lips as you finally start to get to work at reclosing the wound. Your gaze slips to the side when he finally starts to eat the apple you passed to him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, as though he’s only just realized how hungry he is. “Both fleets were decimated. The dead still wash up on the northern shore.”
How did Prince Jacaerys make it to your shore, then?
Not for the first time, you have to wonder if the gods themselves placed him directly into your hands.
Most of the rest of the dead have washed up on the northern and western shores of Sharp Point, as it is where the currents run strongest, but the prince somehow made it to where your cottage sits on the eastern shore. If he had washed up anywhere else, the patrol would have certainly found him by now. You've heard they have spent the last several days combing the beaches, hauling bloated corpses from the tide and turning them over with the tips of their spears, searching for the dragon prince they are certain the sea claimed.
Prince Jacaerys’s breath hitches when you tug lightly at the stitches holding the skin of his shoulder together. Already, he’s finished the apple you handed him, absentmindedly turning the core between his fingers while his thoughts remain leagues away.
It is only when the last bite is gone that he seems to notice, and his gaze drifts toward the table. He hesitates, and you think it is almost comical—this is the heir to the Iron Throne, a dragonrider, a prince who has flown into battle, and he looks as though asking for another apple might be an imposition too great to make when he’s been floating at sea for at least a week.
You hold the stitches carefully with your right hand so that you can lean forward and grab another apple from your table to pass to him. His cheeks color slightly when he realizes that you noticed.
“I did not mean to stare,” he murmurs, taking the apple from you and cradling it carefully between his hands. He asks again, “Have you heard what has become of my family?”
You shake your head, focusing on tending to his wounds again. You think that you’ll be able to salvage your work. It is good, you think—you can get him resting and then cook some stew for the two of you. You didn’t eat much yesterday, frazzled by the fever and trying to keep him comfortable, and you’re starting to feel a lightness in your head.
“I’ve only heard what the soldiers say in town, my prince,” you murmur, trying to figure out how to go about speaking the news he certainly won’t take well. The last thing you need is for grief to send him bolting for Dragonstone before he can so much as walk across your cottage without collapsing. If he does not kill himself by straining his body when it is not ready, then the patrols will certainly catch him and have his head—and then yours.
You let out a soft sigh as you tie off the stitches on his shoulder blade and lean down to wet the clean rag before lifting it to his bloody skin. You’re careful around the edges of the wound, trying not to disturb the stitches, working slowly at the dried and wet blood from the curve of his shoulder, over the collarbone, down the length of his back.
You try not to think too hard about what you’re doing.
If you do, it begins to feel far too intimate.
It is one thing to drag an unconscious stranger from the sea. It is another to stand so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, to brush your fingers across the line of his shoulders. You have spent three days tending him without much thought, because there had been no room for embarrassment while the Stranger lingered at his bedside.
Now he is awake and watching you, and every accidental brush of your knuckles against his skin seems to linger a heartbeat too long. He is a prince of the realm, and you are a fisherman’s daughter—people like you are not supposed to touch people like him, and yet—
You exhale through your nose harshly. You busy yourself with the rag, scrubbing a little harder than necessary at a streak of dried blood along his collarbone simply to distract yourself, and his jaw pinches.
“Sorry,” you say quietly.
“It does not hurt,” he replies—a lie, surely, any man would be in agonizing pain. But maybe not; any man also would have died in the sea. Maybe the rumors are true: the Targaryens are closer to god than man; they do not feel pain or have to fear the Stranger the same way people like you ought to. “What have you heard from the soldiers in town? Where are we?”
“Half a league from Sharp Point, my prince,” you answer, still evading the question, which he seems to realize from the way he glances at you over his shoulder, gaze sharp and accusing. He knows you are withholding something. You exhale lightly through your nose and then say hesitantly, “They say two dragons fell over the Gullet. I could not tell you which.”
“Two?!” Prince Jacaerys demands, immediately rising to his feet, so quickly that the chair scrapes against the floor, and you fear he might rip back open the stitches. He whirls on you, eyes wide, pupils large as coins, and you almost flinch. “Two dragons?”
You swallow thickly as you nod. “My prince—”
“One must be—” His voice catches. He cannot finish the thought. For the first time since he awoke, real grief overtakes him completely. It drains his face of what little color had returned, leaves him staring at nothing as though he can already see the answer waiting for him. “I need to know the second. Whose was it? Which dragon fell?”
It unsettles you how close he sounds to pleading when moments before, you had been wondering whether the stories of the Targaryens’ deism held some weight, because gods do not look like this. They do not stand in a stranger’s cottage with fear plain on their face, hands trembling as they wait for an answer they already dread.
The same lump forms in your throat now that did when you heard the soldiers mocking a grieving queen and couldn’t help your thoughts from turning to your own mother, to Miss Ellyn, to your friend, Marie. For a moment, he is not a Targaryen prince or a dragonlord; you see a son and an older brother. A boy your age who knows there are only a handful of dragons flying over the Gullet, and every one of them belongs to someone he loves.
“I do not—”
“I need to return home,” he says immediately, as though his face isn’t white with pain and his stitches don’t strain every time he moves. His eyes glaze over you as though you’re not even there, and he takes a step toward the door to your small cottage. “Sharp Point—there must be passage to Dragonstone, there—”
Panic flares in your chest when he makes as though to leave. It is noon, and the patrols have become more frequent along the shores outside your cottage. They’ve spent a week carding through the western and northern shores, and they’ve been sending more and more men to the east—you worry they’re becoming desperate. The longer they go without finding a corpse, the more they may fear that there isn’t one.
If they have an inkling that Prince Jacaerys is still alive, they’ll start kicking down doors, and if they start kicking down doors, they will find him, and your life will be forfeit for harboring him.
“You cannot,” you say before you can think better of it, lunging forward as though to grab his wrist, but you stop yourself before you can make a terrible mistake, stopping a hairsbreadth from brushing his skin.
What is wrong with you? you think furiously. You need to rest tonight before you do something you cannot take back. Already you have gotten snide with and you have argued with a prince of the realm—now you have commanded him and nearly tried to seize him. You would have been lucky to only lose your hand in any other circumstance. Had he been standing in a hall instead of your cottage, surrounded by knights instead of rough-hewn furniture, you might have lost your head.
“I cannot?” Prince Jacaerys turns to you, bafflement momentarily eclipsing the fear that had consumed him only seconds before, as though he cannot quite fathom that someone has just told him no.
“My prince, you can scarcely stand,” you say. His gaze drops to where your hand is still hovering near his arm, head cocking to the side and brows lifting, and you snap it back to your chest immediately, heat flooding your face. “You have lost a lot of blood, you have barely eaten in a week, your wounds have only just been stitched again, and there are patrols searching for you every road between here and the sea.”
He continues to stare at you, disbelief riddling his expression. You have the distinct impression that no one has ever spoken to him this way before—certainly not a fisherman’s daughter. You force yourself to press on while he’s silent, hoping to make your point and rid him of this futile endeavor before he gets you both killed.
“The Prince Aemond burned Sharp Point’s harbor. There are no ships capable of navigating the currents of the Gullet, and the water still burns besides. I do not have a horse for you to ride to Stonedance. You could not get to Dragonstone even if you were not hurt,” you insist. “I will return to town tomorrow to try to get more information, but please, my prince, you mustn’t leave. You will only be putting us both at risk.”
For a long moment, you think that he will invoke his title or duty and insist upon leaving anyway, or maybe he will simply walk out the door despite everything you have said, and there is nothing you could do to stop him.
Then, his expression changes, twisting into something pained as he looks away, a shuddered breath escaping his lips. His shoulders, held tense since the moment you uttered the word two, sink ever so slightly. The panic that had driven him to his feet has nowhere left to go, draining from him all at once, leaving only exhaustion behind.
One hand drops back down to his ribs, pain crossing his face. Whatever strength carried him to his feet abandons him just as quickly as the panic, leaving him swaying where he stands. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he reopens them, the panic has been replaced by a type of defeat that is infinitely more difficult to look at.
You step forward cautiously when you see how his body is trembling, hand hovering uncertainly between the two of you, silently asking permission to help him. Prince Jacaerys stares at your outstretched hand, then at the bed on the far side of the room; you think, for a second, that he will attempt to cross on his own, but then his nostrils flare as he exhales, inclining his head just enough to grant you the permission his pride refuses to voice aloud.
Carefully, you slip beneath his uninjured arm, taking care to avoid the fresh bandages. He is warm—still warmer than he ought to be—and you can’t help but wonder if his fever has returned or if this is just how hot dragon prince’s typically run.
He leans into you only slightly, weight settling lightly against your shoulder—you suspect he is trying very hard not to. The journey from the door to your bed is scarcely a dozen paces, but it feels much longer.
“We were supposed to win this victory for her,” Prince Jacaerys says after a moment, voice breaking, the words slip free before he can stop it. You do not think the admission is meant for you, so you stay quiet. His throat works as he swallows. “We were supposed to—”
He cuts himself off, looking away again as you help him ease back down into your bed. As soon as he is seated, something close to relief crosses his face, lashes fluttering; the pain is still there, but not quite as terrible as it was when he was straining on his feet.
“The fact that you are alive at all is a victory, my prince,” you say quietly, even though you do not think the words will be of any reassurance. “You should rest. The sooner you are well, the sooner we can figure out a way to get you home. I’ll cook up a stew and wake you when it’s finished.”
He exhales again, jaw tightening as he looks away with a resigned expression. You turn your back on him to deal with the mess you made of the kitchen area, grimacing slightly at everything spilled across your floorboards and the table.
“What is your name?” Prince Jacaerys asks you suddenly. “I think I ought to know the name of the woman who saved my life.”
You let a soft breath, glancing over your shoulder at him. He is pained still, but there is an earnest look in his eyes that makes you falter—you remember how close you were to leaving him to his fate, and you have to look away again before he can catch the guilt that crosses over your face.
With a shaky exhale, you give the prince your name, and you cannot help but feel as though your life has irrevocably changed, and you do not think for the better.
————————————
The sea is on fire.
Jace cannot tell where the flames end and the water begins. Ships burn around him, masts collapsing into the waves with deafening cracks; men scream as they’re consumed by the fire, and dragons let out terrible shrieks as they dive low to bring down another ship full of Myrish mercenaries.
He tries to focus.
He chases after the rogue dragon, hoping to kill the rider before the dragon can burn any more of the Velayron fleet—or worse, catch Baela and Moondancer. But there is panic clawing at his chest, and smoke and salt clogging his throat and stinging his eyes. He’s screaming at Vermax to fly faster, to kill the rider, and then—then he sees Rhaena.
He sees Rhaena atop the wild dragon, and she is screaming, crying, desperately trying to get it under control, and Jace is confused, reeling as he yells at Vermax to stop at the last second. He and dragon both diving down away from the chase before Vermax could breathe fire on his cousin.
Rhaena does not have a dragon, he thinks, trying to figure out what is happening, and Rhaena is supposed to be with his brothers, and his brothers are captured by the enemy, and he isn’t sure if Stormcloud and Aegon made it to shore, and there is too much going on, and—
—and Vermax is falling.
Vermax is banking hard, being dragged down into the sea, and Jace’s stomach lurches. He’s yelling—begging—Vermax to fly, and Vermax is trying, he’s trying so hard, wings beating smoke through the air. He shrieks as another bolt catches him in the wing, and Jace feels the pain himself—he feels the pain, the primal fear, everything that Vermax does, because Vermax is his, and he is Vermax’s, and they are bonded, and Vermax is drowning, and the water is so cold, and Jace cannot feel his legs or his hands or his face.
He fumbles as he tries to unhook himself from the saddle, choking on water and air, maybe a sob, as Vermax sinks into the sea, a stream of bubbles rising to the surface as he cries for Jace, slowly disappearing into the dark waters. Jace desperately tries to dive after him, as if he has the strength to hold them both above the sea, because Jace has already lost Luke, and he—he cannot lose Vermax.
Not the dragon who had slept beside his cradle before he was old enough to walk, the hatchling he had grown up alongside, whose neck had once fit beneath his arm, whose first uncertain flights had ended with both of them tumbling into the sandy shore of Dragonstone while his mother laughed herself breathless.
Jace does not know a life without him—he does not want to know a life without him. His earliest recollections are not of nursery songs or wooden swords, but of warm green scales beneath tiny hands and the deep, rumbling croon that had lulled him to sleep when he was scarcely more than a babe.
When Jace learned to walk, Vermax learned to fly; when Jace’s voice deepened, Vermax’s roar had too.
There has never been a Jacaerys without Vermax.
But Jace’s lungs are burning, and he cannot see the familiar green scales anymore, and his body is reacting, seizing and spasming because there is no air left in him and water all around. He does not know which way is up and which way is down, the water is too dark and too cold, and he cannot think, but—but he sees the bubbles. He sees the bubbles, and he follows them, and even as Vermax sinks to the bottom of the sea, he saves his rider one final time.
He reaches the surface with a gasp, gulping the smoky air, and everything hurts. His arms ache, his chest is too tight, his eyes burn, and he cannot breathe, because Vermax is gone. He can feel that Vermax is gone; there is a gaping hole in his chest where his dragon used to be, and Jace does not know what to do, he does not know how to live anymore, and he wants—
He wants his mother.
He just wants his mother.
He hears the cheers before he feels the first arrow, gaze lifting to the sky as he searches for Baela and Moondancer—they are not too far, he thinks, she'll come for him.
And then, there’s a dull throb in his shoulder blade as he pulls himself over a floating piece of driftwood, but he hardly takes note of the pain, because everywhere hurts, because Vermax is gone, because he wants his mother. He turns when he hears the cheering, and he sees the men on the ship, and he sees the crossbows and the bows and the Myrish banners, but he does not see anything at all, really, blinking once, staring.
The second arrow catches him closer to the chest.
And then—then all he remembers is sea.
White foam and bubbles, vicious currents and sharp rocks. He thinks he is dead more than he thinks he is alive, but there is so much pain. There is pain and emptiness, and Jace just wants—
“... prince, the stew is ready.”
Jace startles awake, breath hitching in the back of his throat. His body tenses immediately, because he does not remember where he is—he remembers the sea and the waves and rocks and pain and Vermax, but he does not remember…
The cottage. Waking up alone. The door opening, the fear—was he captured? Where is he? Where are his brothers? Where is Baela? What was Rhaena doing on the wild dragon? Mother, mother, mother—
You avert your eyes suddenly, an awkward expression on your face, and Jace suddenly remembers. He remembers you, the apple you passed him as you tended to his wounds; how he held a knife to the throat of a woman who is risking her own life to save his. He remembers that he is stuck bedridden in the bed of a commoner while his mother thinks he’s dead and fights for her throne alone.
He opens his mouth to apologize—to tell you that he will leave as soon as he is able, that he will ensure you’re properly compensated for saving his life—but he falters when he feels something hot and wet drip down his face.
He lifts his hand to his cheek and wipes at his face, looking down at the wetness smeared on his fingertips. For a long moment, he does not understand—seawater, maybe? But he is no longer being tossed around by the sea. He is warm in your cottage, the hearth burns low and your blankets are tangled around him. He blinks once, and another fat droplet of water rolls from his eye down his cheek.
Is he crying?
Heat rushes to his face so quickly he thinks it rivals the fever. He wipes away furiously, not sure if it’s more or less humiliating that you’re pretending not to notice for his sake, turning your back to him to ready the table.
Jace has wept before, more than most ought to—for the father who taught him fishing and sea shanties, and the other who passed before either of them could speak the truth out loud, for the grandfather he never truly knew, for the brother who felt less like a brother and more like his other half—but never, never in front of a stranger.
Jace promptly clears his throat and pulls himself together. He glances at you, praying that his face does not betray him, an excuse on his lips as takes a deep breath. Then he falters, mouth watering instantly, gaze cutting to the side where you are busy ladling stew into two chipped wooden bowls, back politely turned, as though you never noticed anything at all.
Jace doesn't think he’s ever been this hungry. He has dined in castles all his life—roasted swan, lemon cakes, arbor wines. He has consumed the finest meals Westeros has to offer and found them lacking, but he almost feels dizzy with need and pleasure at the scent of the stew you made.
“It—” Jace’s voice is hoarse from sleep. Embarrassed, he clears his throat again to try to even it out. “It smells good.”
You look at him over your shoulder with a small smile and murmur demurely, “I’m sure nothing compared to what you’re used to, my prince.”
“I do not know that,” he says lightly as he forces himself to his feet, grimacing as pain immediately shoots through his body.
Everything aches—his chest, his shoulders, his legs, his arms, his head. In truth, all he wants to do is curl up and sleep more; he cannot bear to keep going. Not now. Not after Vermax, after Luke, after making such a terrible mistake that he might have cost his mother her throne. His stomach flips at the thought, and he fights a shuddered breath.
He needs to keep going—there is no other choice. He needs to get back to Dragonstone as soon as possible.
You pause in the middle of setting the bowls on the table at his words to give him a questioning look. “My prince?”
“I have not tasted it yet,” he tells you, forcing levity into his tone, because you have saved his life, tended to his wounds, and now stand over a pot of stew you cooked for him, worrying that it is not good enough to satisfy a prince. The least he can do is ease your mind. "It would seem unfair to compare a meal I have not eaten yet.”
You blink at him once, and then you smile slightly—it’s a genuine one, not like the small one you forced in his direction just before—and Jace tries his best to return it as he crosses the small room. He shuffles the last few steps toward the table with considerably less grace than he would have liked.
“Perhaps” you reply softly, waiting for him to take a seat at the table before you do as well.
You do not immediately lift your spoon, and Jace hesitates—for a brief moment, an old childhood lesson surfaces. Do not eat until someone else has tasted it. Feasts at King’s Landing and supper at Dragonstone had been meticulous about such things—cups were poured and tasted before his mother, and plates were sampled before any of them took a bite of their food. The paranoia claws at him and disappears as quickly as it comes.
You had dragged him half-dead from the sea, spent days stitching his wounds and breaking his fever, and gave up your bed so he could sleep comfortably. If you wished him dead, you need only have left him on the shore.
“I never thanked you for what you’ve done for me,” he says at last, fingers grazing the wooden spoon dipped into the broth. “When I return to Dragonstone, I shall speak with my mother. She will see you properly rewarded.”
“There is no need,” you murmur, finally taking a sip of the stew when Jace lifts the spoon to his lips.
The broth is hot enough to sting his tongue, but he scarcely notices. It is a simple meal—carrots and celery, chunks of what he thinks is rabbit. It is the plainest thing he has eaten in years, and yet somehow, the best meal he can remember.
His stomach twists painfully as warmth settles into it, and before he can stop himself, he takes another spoonful, then another, the hunger of the past week overwhelming whatever restraint court etiquette had once led him. It is only when half the bowl is gone that he realizes how quickly he is eating.
Embarrassed, he forces himself to slow, lowering the spoon.
“My apologies,” he says, clearing his throat. “I fear I may have forgotten my manners.”
“You haven’t had a meal in over a week, my prince. You’re allowed to be hungry,” you say with a faint smile.
Jace lets out a half-hearted huff of amusement through his nose, though his smile fades as quickly as it came, returning to conversation to try to force himself to slow down and show a modicum of etiquette before he embarrasses himself further.
“There is every need for reward,” he disagrees, leaning forward slightly to look at you. For the first time since he woke in your cottage, he actually observes you—you cannot be much older than he is, beautiful certainly, but there’s a weariness in your expression that Jace cannot help but feel as though is his fault. “You saved the life of the heir to the Iron Throne. You surrendered your bed, tended wounds that would have killed most men, and risked the wrath of the Greens simply by allowing me beneath your roof. I cannot allow that debt to go unanswered.”
You stare at him for a moment, a conflicted expression on your face, and Jace shakes his head slightly as he presses.
“I do not possess enough coin to repay such a debt myself—” nor, he suspects, does anyone “—but my mother will. You needn't live here any longer if you do not wish to. We could see your cottage rebuilt if the fighting has damaged it, or grant you land elsewhere, if that is what you'd prefer. Whatever you ask, so long as it is within my power, I will see it done.”
You are quiet for a long while as Jace finishes off the stew, but he expects hesitation as you mull over what to ask for: gold, land, a better ship, perhaps. Your gaze drifts off to the side, and Jace’s follows it, faltering when he realizes that you’re looking in the direction of what remains of Sharp Point.
That’s right, he remembers—you mentioned your cottage was less than a league away.
From where he sits, he can just see the destruction through the small window. The town is little more than scorched foundations and splintered timbers now, dragonfire having reduced generations of work to ash in the span of a single afternoon. He cannot look at it for long, stomach twisting so unpleasantly that he fears the stew you just cooked him might come right up.
You stay silent for so long that Jace wonders if you have not heard him, and his lips part to repeat himself futilely.
“We used to think they were beautiful, you know?” you say, voice barely over a breath. “We would watch your family fly from King’s Landing and Dragonstone. The children would cheer and call out the names of whatever dragon and royal was passing overhead, even though they knew you could not hear them.” A wistful smile tugs briefly at your lips, and Jace suddenly feels a rock in his stomach, a heaviness that he cannot seem to push away. “There is a wild dragon in these parts—we call him Grey Ghost. He hunts fish along the eastern shore. I see him frequently when I take my father’s boat out. We lived alongside him for years—sometimes he swoops down close when we have a big catch, but he never bothers us. My father always said he was curious—shy, but curious.”
You exhale suddenly as you rise to your feet; Jace wonders if he should ignore the unshed tears in your eyes the same way you politely did for him.
“Then the Prince Aemond and Vhagar came,” you say at last. “The only thing I want, my prince, is for this war to end, but I know you cannot give me that. If you don't mind, I should see to my father's boat before the tide turns. There is more stew in the pot if you would have it. Then you ought to rest. You'll not heal by arguing with your own body.”
Jace opens his mouth.
He does not know what he intends to say, caught between guilt and indignation, because everybody wants the fighting to end—he does, his mother does. Maybe not Daemon, but why do you say it as though he stands opposed to peace? He did not choose this, nor did his mother. It is not his fault that the Greens usurped his mother's throne.
He desperately tries to formulate an answer, but how is he supposed to respond to that? What were they meant to do? Yield to the usurpers? Stand aside while his mother’s birthright was stolen? Let Luke die for nothing? Should he say that he is sorry for your loss? That his mother would never have done this? That Vermax would never have burned a fishing village? That this was all the Greens? That they fight to avenge what happened here?
That dragons are not cruel creatures, he feels the need to tell you when he sees the disdain on your face—it is the people who ride them. It is the Greens. It is Aegon and Aemond, Alicent Hightower and her father.
His lips are parted as though to respond, but he only finds himself staring at you helplessly.
You incline your head politely before slipping out the door, the cool air rushing briefly into the cottage before it shuts behind you once more. Jace remains where he is, staring into the last of his stew until the steam no longer rises from it, the reality of his situation settling over him—Vermax is dead, Luke is dead, and his mother believes them both lost. He does not know whether his brothers and cousins are safe, if his mother still fights for her crown. He is useless, wounded in a fisherman's cottage, alive only because a woman from a town his family failed to protect chose mercy over sense.
He does not think he has ever felt less like the heir to a kingdom.
sukuna was used to getting hit on. normally, he flat out rejects anyone that even makes an attempt to flirt with him. tonight he's taken you on one of your usual date nights, but imagine his surprise when the woman who approaches your table is hitting on you instead of him!
"ryo. ryo, ryo, ryo, i don't know what to get!" you pout, extending a leg underneath the table to graze your husband's calf as he grunts, brows pinched together in concentration as he stares down at the menu
"doesn't matter. i'm ordering half the stuff they have here anyway... you hungry for dessert too?" he questions, and you give him a deadpan look before he dramatically rolls his eyes, eliciting a giggle from you that has the corner of his mouth tipping upwards in a smirk
"fatty," he murmurs, and you make a point to dig the tip of your heel into his shoe, yet even through the pain, he maintains that annoying grin, and you shake your head with a laugh
the restaurant sukuna chose to take you out to tonight was located on the outer edges of the city near the water. your seating is overlooking the ocean, and you're not sure where you should stare—either at the lapping waves shimmering underneath the sparkling sun, or at your husband (an equally irresistible sight). he's wearing a tight black shirt with the first few buttons open, revealing the intricate details of his tattoos and the large expanse of his muscles and chest
a waitress eventually approaches your table. she's pretty—tall, lean, and wearing a dark red lipstick that suits her well—and you feel your heart sink a bit. you're sure she was staring at your table earlier, and you'd already assumed she was keeping an eye out on sukuna. almost subconsciously, you sit a little taller in your chair as she greets you two
"hello! i hope you guys are doing well. what can i get started?" she starts in an extra sweet voice, and you avoid her eyes and instead drum a single manicured finger against the table to distract yourself
you know you have nothing to feel insecure about, but anyone would feel a bit down if attractive women were constantly hitting on their husband, right?
without looking up, sukuna starts
"i'll have a plate of crab cakes, four fish tacos, one chicken marsala, one miso marinated black cob, two fettuccini pastas, one lobster ravioli, and one lava cake—and the center of it better not be undercooked. my wife doesn't like whenever it happens and i want her dessert to be nothing short of perfection." sukuna finishes, and the waitress looks genuinely distressed as she quickly jots down everything he said
"uhm, and all that is for just the two of you?" she questions hesitantly, and sukuna's gaze snaps up with a scowl
"yeah. and?"
you try to stifle your laughter as she quickly shakes her head with a smile, still writing everything down. your husband was... a bit of a big eater.
"no, no, i was just wondering— oh. did you say wife?" she frowns, and you try not to wince at twinge of disappointment in her voice
"if you were thinking i'm single, you're out of luck." sukuna states boldly, not bothering to give her any further attention as he folds up the menu and hands it to her
"uhm... i wasn't wondering about you. i was wondering about you." — and suddenly her gaze is pinned on you, and your eyes widen a fraction
"me?" you squeak in disbelief, and she smirks. it's cocky and slanted and it instantly reminds you of your husband's habit when he's teasing you, and you can't even try to hide the smile on your face as you cover it with your hand, caught off gaurd and embarrassed
"yes, you. you are beautiful. so, are you happily married to this guy, or just marri—"
"that's enough." sukuna stammers, and he looks genuinely mortified by the look of curiosity on your face. you giggle, shaking your head
"thank you... you're very beautiful too." you smile, and she actually blushes at your words, telling you she'll be out with your food soon as she walks back inside the restaurant with a lot more pep in her step than before
sukuna reaches over to pull your hand out of your lap and onto the table, and he adjusts your ring with furrowed brows as you giggle
"ryo—"
"i can't believe that woman's audacity—hitting on my wife! when i get home, i am writing the most deplorable review of this restaurant." he snaps as you let out a sudden laugh
"don't be silly, you big grump! she was nice," you smile, and he drags a hand down his face as if this was the worst day of his entire life.
sukuna wasn't used to women hitting on you. no man ever tried because all six feet of your husband was always looming behind you like a guard dog just waiting to rip someone's head off for looking at you too long, but he never suspected he had to look out for women too!
his brows are furrowed as he rubs a thumb over the diamond on your ring finger, and your gaze softens before you cradle his own larger hand in your own and press a kiss onto his knuckles. he blinks at you a few times before turning away with a huff, the tips of his ears a light shade of pink
"you're mine. you'll never indulge in anyone that tries anything with you, right?" he murmurs, still staring at your interlocked hands as you pout
"of course not." you promise gently, and he seems satisfied by your response as he holds your hand firmly in his own
after a moment of thought, he opens his mouth once again
"do you think we should make out to confirm our status for everyone else here?"
A bet is classic. What could be more fun than targeting a sweet girl and making her fall in love with the reputable campus fuckboy? Surely he wouldn’t fall in love with you.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: I have seen sooooo many ideas and tiktoks about the trope of reader being a bet & it always hurts so good! wanted to try it out and ofc it had to be with fratboy gojo >:)))
warnings: angst obvi hehehe, drinking, cursing, reader is super sweet and a bet obvi, no comfort or happy ending (yet? who knows), mentions of vomiting but doesn’t, mentions of blood, reader is never someone’s first choice:(( ummmm, gojo is an asshole ofc
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
Satoru knew he should've said no in the beginning, knew it wasn't worth it just to impress his friends- his stupid frat brothers who never took anything seriously. Never thought about the consequences of their actions.
Buuut the idea of the bet was just too good to turn down.
The effort, the build up, the dedication- it would all come together so perfectly, especially with you as the main star. With you being you, you were doomed from the start before the bet could even fully take shape.
Sweet little you. Shouldn't you have known better?
Going around, shamelessly wearing your heart on your sleeve, always spreading kindness on the darkest of days, looking and talking to people as if they genuinely mattered- and maybe to you, they actually did, even when they couldn't have cared less about returning the favor. Not that you ever expected anything in return.
And most importantly of it all? You were so understanding. Far too understanding for your own good. The debilitating type that had rooted itself early on as some sort of lousy defense mechanism and eventually morphed into something self destructive. Had you subconsciously constructing and molding subpar excuses to justify someone's behavior, especially when it was directed towards you.
Always being an overly empathetic thing, so willing to sacrifice and minimize your own feelings when it came to others, always softening their blow.
Were you desperate or something to get people to stay? So desperate that you had unintentionally turned yourself into a doormat that people could stomp all over?
Anybody could've told you that it was idiotic to try and see everyone at face value, to so naively believe the words people told you. But you could've argued the opposite.
It wasn't naivety. It was you, sweet and trusting you, determined to not let your past heartbreak change the way you viewed others, to not let it bias you, scare you, or haunt you. Despite having been constantly hurt, you refused to allow your past experiences make you question and doubt every. single. new. relationship.
Always trying to see the good in people.
It would have turned out great, perfectly actually. You had played your part with flying colors, just as expected, putting on the most spectacular, albeit unknown, performance. And Satoru? Well.
Things would have turned out great.
If he hadn't started falling in love with you.
But the show must go on.
“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.
Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.
One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.
But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.
You believed it all.
After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.
Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.
Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!
Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!
“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”
He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.
He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?
But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.
You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.
He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.
He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.
You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.
“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.
His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.
He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?
You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.
“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.
The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.
Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.
A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.
“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.
“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”
“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”
You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.
Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.
“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.
He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.
“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.
The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.
“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-
“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.
“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.
His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.
“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.
Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.
The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.
The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.
The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!
Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.
Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.
Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.
You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.
You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.
Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.
You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.
A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.
He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.
Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.
“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.
His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.
You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.
“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”
You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.
The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.
Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.
You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.
Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.
Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.
Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.
Who would willingly want to be with you?
Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.
Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.
Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.
He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.
He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.
Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.
“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”
Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.
“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.
If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.
“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.
You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.
“I thought you liked digimon??”
He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.
“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”
He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.
You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”
Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.
“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.
He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest
“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”
A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.
“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.
You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.
“Please.”
Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.
You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.
“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”
Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.
“What did I ever do to you?”
The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.
Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.
He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.
“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.
Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.
A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.
“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”
You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”
You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.
Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.
“I never want to see you again.”
His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.
He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.
“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.
For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.
“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.
He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.
“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.
Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.
He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.
A/N: Heyy so I have something new and it’s a Yungblud imagine 💕 after I saw this photo I was like hell yeah, I had to write a morning-after hotel scene for it 😏 it’s soft, full of banter, and just that cozy vibe when you wake up next to someone you really like. Hope you guys enjoy!
Yungblud Masterlist
The first thing you notice is the quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that feels empty or lonely, but the sort that has a hum beneath it, like a song waiting to start. The hotel suite is hushed, save for the low whir of the air conditioner and the faint clink of porcelain from somewhere past the bedroom door. You blink awake slowly, stretching under the weight of crisp hotel sheets, and it hits you all at once: last night, the way laughter dissolved into softer things, the warmth of a body beside yours, the comfort of not overthinking for once.
Your hand drifts across the mattress. The space where Dom should be is warm but empty.
You frown, rubbing your eyes. “Dom?” your voice comes out rough, still heavy with sleep.
No answer, only the muted shuffle of something on wheels. Curiosity tugs you out of bed, toes brushing the cool wood floor as you wander toward the sound. The suite smells faintly of strong coffee and room service eggs. Your stomach grumbles in response.
And then you see him.
He’s standing by a cart draped in a white cloth, two silver domes glinting on top, a small vase with a single red rose beside them. His back is to the wardrobe, his hair damp and slicked back from a shower, and a towel is knotted carelessly around his hips. He’s holding a delicate porcelain cup like it’s the most normal thing in the world, lifting it to his lips with exaggerated grace.
Dom notices you, of course. He always does. His eyes flick up, and a grin spreads across his face, equal parts mischief and tenderness.
“Mornin’, trouble,” he says, voice low and playful.
You pause in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed even though your heart is doing flips. “You could’ve told me you were leaving the bed. I thought you’d vanished.”
Dom chuckles, setting the cup down with mock elegance. “Vanished? What am I, Houdini?” He lifts the towel at his hip like it’s a cape and bows dramatically. “Ta-da. Still here.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “Idiot.”
“Ah, there’s my girl,” he says softly, and the teasing slips into something gentler. He gestures toward the cart. “Brought us breakfast. Well, technically some poor sod from room service brought it, but I picked the good bits.”
You pad closer, peeking under one of the domes. Pancakes, golden and stacked high, with a little pot of maple syrup. Under the other: scrambled eggs, toast, roasted tomatoes. Your stomach growls again, louder this time. Dom smirks.
“Knew it,” he says. “Didn’t even need to ask what you wanted. I’ve got you figured out.”
“Oh really?” you tease, grabbing a plate and loading it up. “You’ve known me what, five minutes, and suddenly you’re a mind reader?”
Dom leans against the cart, towel slipping just enough to make your pulse jump. He doesn’t seem to notice,or maybe he does and just enjoys watching you squirm. “Five minutes, one night, a whole lifetime,don’t matter. I’m observant.” He taps his temple. “Got all the details stored up here.”
You arch an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like you pretend you don’t like syrup but you actually drown your pancakes in it when you think no one’s watchin’.”
Your cheeks flush. “That was one time.”
He winks. “Sure it was.”
You sit on the edge of the bed with your plate, shaking your head at him. He grabs his coffee and perches on the arm of a chair across from you, still towel-clad, looking annoyingly effortless. For a moment you both just eat in silence, the clink of cutlery and the occasional satisfied hum filling the space.
Finally, you glance up. “So… this is weird.”
Dom quirks a brow. “Weird good or weird bad?”
“Good,” you admit quickly, then soften. “Just… different. Waking up like this.”
He studies you for a long second, then sets his cup down, serious now. “Different’s not bad. I like different.”
You push a piece of pancake around your plate. “You’re not exactly the breakfast-in-bed type, though.”
Dom smirks. “How would you know? Maybe I do this all the time. Maybe I’m a proper gentleman every mornin’.”
“Mm-hm,” you say skeptically.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Alright, you caught me. Usually I roll out of bed, grab me boots, and leg it before anyone notices. But…” His voice drops. “Didn’t want to leg it this time.”
The words hang in the air, heavier than the steam from your coffee. You look up at him, searching his face for some kind of punchline, but all you find is honesty.
“You mean that?” you ask softly.
Dom nods, no theatrics this time. “Yeah. I mean it.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The city hums faintly outside the window, but inside, everything feels suspended. You think about last night,the laughter, the vulnerability, the way he’d looked at you like you were something rare. And now here he is, wrapped in a towel, eating eggs off a hotel cart, still looking at you like that.
“Dom,” you start, unsure of what you want to say.
He cuts in gently. “You don’t have to say anythin’. Just… I wanted you to know.”
You let out a shaky laugh, trying to ease the tension. “You realize you’re confessing all this while half-naked with coffee breath, right?”
He grins, relieved. “Sexy, innit?”
You throw a napkin at him. He dodges, laughing, and the heaviness lifts, replaced by something lighter.
“C’mere,” he says, patting the empty space beside him on the chair.
You hesitate for half a second, then move over, perching on the arm while he shifts to make space. His arm slips naturally around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder. The towel rustles, but you don’t care. For a while, you just sit like that, sharing quiet bites of toast, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your side.
Finally, you break the silence. “So what happens now?”
Dom hums thoughtfully. “Well, I was thinkin’ we finish breakfast, I attempt to make you laugh so hard you choke on your coffee, we take a walk ‘round the city, and then maybe,if you’re lucky,I’ll let you nick me hoodie.”
You laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” he admits. His voice softens again. “But I dunno, love. I don’t wanna make promises I can’t keep. What I can say is… I like this. I like you. And I don’t want it to just be last night.”
Your chest tightens in a way that’s both terrifying and comforting. You tilt your head to look at him, finding his eyes already on you.
“I don’t want it to be just last night either,” you whisper.
Dom smiles then, slow and genuine, and leans down to press a quick, tender kiss to your forehead. “Good. Then we’ll figure it out, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you breathe.
And for the first time in a long time, “different” doesn’t feel so scary. It feels like the start of something real.
After your plan of seduction succeeds, you find yourself engaged to be wed, with Jace entirly enchanted with you. with eveything falling into place. (seducation part 2)
word count: 1,948
CW: MDI 18+, smut, oral (f reciving), fingering, p in v, exhibitionism, breeding kink if you blink, incest. fluff. Jace basically manifested the whole thing. half proofread!
Jacaerys Veleryon x Fem!reader
Masterlist | part one
dividers by @zaldritzosrose
Authors note: sequal to seducation, not my best work but hope you enjoy it! pure fluffy smut! i also forgot how to write smut so hopefully its good.
All you had ever wanted was to be queen. You were regal in both looks and etiquette, you had studied every queen both before and after Aegon’s conquest. You were perfect for it, and though you had to go about it through certain means, you had won. You were engaged to Jace, a future king. Not your first choice but perhaps the best choice.
He had started as a means to and end and yet he seemed perfect. He was a gentleman, sweet and kind. Made sure you were happy and for the first time in your life you truly felt seen and that you truly had a friend. Not one of the vipers of the red keep vying for a boost in status.
Though you supposed you were doing what others had long done to you. Using him for position, security. But it quickly developed into something real.
You had always been kind, charitable. The perfect image of a queen. Just as you had studied. You would be the perfect queen and with you now on side with the blacks your mother and Ottos plot was deteriorating but so was your cunning.
You no longer felt the need to plot your every move, no longer carefully thought of your words before you spoke. You were relaxing and for the first time you truly felt like your own person and not the pawn your mother made you or the one you made yourself.
You were laughing without care for the first time in your life and all because of Jace.
He was always with you, his hands always on your waist, your leg or thigh. Always holding you too him. As if scared to let you go in case you may slip away from his reach.
Your betrothal had been announced, and the wedding planning started instantly. The twisted truth of a planned match since childhood working well to both family’s advantage. And to ease any suspicion or rumours. Though with the anger of their would be betrothed, you both had expected some suspicion or rumour to fly.
Baela had sent scalding gazes your way the past weeks, there was no lost feelings between her and Jace but you imagined she mourned what you converted. The crown.
But you had won more than that. Jace was more than you expected.
The letters you had exchanged from years apart had showed a kind gentlemen, eager to please and to do everything necessary to become a respectable and perfect prince.
And though knowing him in person showed little difference from that man you new in words, he was kind, sweet and a perfect gentleman. And with you by his side the perfect king.
One thing you hadn’t expected was his instable hunger.
His mouth feasted on your cunt like a man starved. You were on fire, your body filled with unending pleasure as his tongue dove into your cunt. Licking, tasting and overwhelming all of your senses.
Your hand gripped his hair like a lifeline, moans slipping from your lips and his tongue slipped in and out your hot cunt.
your orgasm swept over you hard and fast, taking all energy out of you as you slumped back on the garden bench. Jace slowly removing himself from underneath your dress, not before placing a soft kiss to your legs, as he moved from kneeling to sitting by your feet. your hand still half wrapped around his hair as you began to sort the mess your pulling of it had done.
“it’s a surprise no one has caught us” you spoke playing softly with Jace’s hair still.
He turned to you then a grin on his face “perhaps I want to get caught” he mused moving to separate your legs and placing a kiss on your lips.
You laughed softly “us getting caught is the very reason we marry on the morrow”.
Kissing you once more before he spoke “and perhaps if we are caught, they may let us marry today”
You pushed him back playfully “only weeks ago you were betrothed to another” Jace groaned “and I was simply writing letters to my nephew and dreaming of marrying anyone but Jason Lannister”.
“Anyone?” Jace tilted his head “I thought you dreamt of marrying me” his voice was teasing, long gone was the nervous Jace who stuttered at the very sight of you. Though her was perpetually blushing in your presence and the puppy eyes never faded from his face.
“Perhaps you were a means to an end” you teased, though feeling of guilt rushed through you as you remembered the real reason you had first started your plan of seduction with him.
He titled his head, moving to sit beside you and pulling him into your lap “perhaps, but either way I won”.
“won?”
“you sit here in my lap, my hand between your thighs and my name on your lips…do you really think this isn’t what I wanted all along” he spoke, his hand lifting your dress once more as his fingers edged closer and closer to where his tongue had been only moment ago.
“oh so you had a plan?” you tease, trying to hold back your moan as his finger slowly slips inside you.
“and you didn’t?” Jace muses, nibbling at your neck.
A smile graced your lips, slighty uneasy as you realised you were as much of a fool as you first made him.
Your plan had been simple, lure him into bed. Get caught and get married. And after tomorrow you would have done everything but received the title you always converted. But that would take time.
But his was long and far more genius than yours.
Jaceaerys Velaryon knew three defiant things from a young age. One was that he would one day be king, the second was that he was a bastard. The third was that he would marry you.
There were no doubts in his mind and though you had ignored him his entire childhood and only ever shown interest in him through gossip or rumours, he knew one day you would be his queen.
He had watched you obsess over every queen, how you knew what made a good one or a bad one. How you always planned everything to appear queenly and regal, from the way you dressed to how you talked and acted. You were given titles to show your charity and only ever began to show him attention when you realised, he was your best bet at becoming one.
He knew the second he saw your face greeting his and his family’s arrival what your plan was, to have him and he wanted to have you. He had loved you his whole life, dreamt of this plan for six years and though he never would of guessed what you had instore, he didn’t care as long as he got to have you.
There were slight obstacles in the way, but you were as clever as you were cunning and knew how to get exactly how to get what you wanted.
You had focused your attention on him the whole night and just when he thought he had a chance to enchant you, you had left. Snuck out of the room unnoticed and causing Jace’s plan to slip through his fingers.
He had sulked all the way to his chambers, kicking the door as he entered only worrying to look up when he heard your angelic laugh.
That night was a literal dream come true for Jace and being caught not only excited him but made you, his bride.
His plan to woo you had originally been different, he planned to court you like a gentlemen be a true friend to you, unlike your stiff ladies maids who whispered behind your back and would turn on you for any chance to gain an advantage to their station. To convince you to run away and elope and after that their families could say or do nothing. They’d be wed and bed and she his future queen.
He had manged to enchant you, made you love him as he loved you, as he dreamt of for years, and here he stood watching you walk down the aisle of the sept. your arm linked with your fathers and a blushful smile on your face.
You had never blushed until him, had always been perfect and composed.
He had only blushed around you. Been a fool, your fool and now you were as much as a fool for him as he was for you.
“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.” You both said in unison. “I am his/hers and s/he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,"
Your eyes never leaving the other Jace spoke, "With this kiss, I pledge my love" the kiss was filled with as much passion as the hundreds of others they had shared before. There love and devotion for one another of full display.
The wedding feast was a blur of wine, kisses, and dancing and before they knew it the happy couple was running through the halls of the red keep towards their now joint chambers.
The door to your chambers slammed shut with a loud thud.
Your breaths were heavy as you looked at one another.
With Jace leaning against the door and you sat on the bed. His eyes were on you like you were prey. A sharp difference from the first time. He hunted you down with his eyes, prowling forward ever so slowly.
He undressed slowly, his eyes on you as his clothes slowly fell to the floor.
Then he pounced. Ripping your dress from your body, he moved forward pulling you into a heated kiss. A moan instantly leaving your lips as he pulled you towards him, his hands gripping your waist and his hard cock rubbed against your cunt .
His mouth moved from your mouth to your neck as he moved you to his lap, his hands moving you atop his cock.
He didn’t enter you, not yet, just teased you as he pressed kisses to your neck, sucking on your neck, making sure he left a mark.
You were his now and forever and he wanted everyone to see the evidence of your love.
Moans fell from your neck as he kissed down to your breast, placing soft kisses to your nipples.
“please” you begged, pulling his face up to yours.
“please what?” he asked, placing soft kisses on your jaw.
“Fuck me” you begged.
Pushing you back onto the bed, his leg pushing your thighs apart as he lent over you, kissing your lips once before he entered you.
“Gods” he moaned, his hands gripping your waist.
His mouth took yours in a heated kiss as he moved. Your legs wrapping around his waist as he set the pace.
His face buried in your neck as he thrusted into you. His breaths fast and hot as he kissed the love marks he had left earlier. Moving to cradle you to him his face grew faster as he began to pound into you, your peaks fast approaching.
Clenching around him as you came, his name a scream as your peak washed over you, yours a loud groan as he filled you with his seed.
He collapsed fully on you, his breath hot as he held you to him.
He didn’t remove himself from you, instead letting his seed find purchase in your cunt, and hoping to fill your belly.
“I love you, Jace” you whispered in his ear.
“I love you” he said kissing you softly your name like a prayer on his lips.
The Victorian-style house looked a bit creepy, but rather cute. Very pinkish. Perfectly serene for your remote job and longing for silence. And everything would be wonderful if not for this little weird doll that looks like you and a small door in the living room, leading to... nowhere? And what about those two guys who lived here sixty years ago?
˖𖦹 ݁˖ pairing: Satosugu x Reader
˖𖦹 ݁˖ content/warnigs: ꒰ Coraline AU :: yandere :: stalking :: Satoru and Suguru have buttons for eyes :: they desperately want you to stay :: horror :: hope it will be a bit creepy :: obsessive behaviours :: possessive behaviour :: dark romance :: heavy smut :: manipulation :: death :: demons :: use of some Coraline conspiracy theories ꒱
˖𖦹 ݁˖ notes: The first chapter will be posted on June 22! And on that day I will also post my main summerween, slasher collection <3
Taglist for this mini series is open! Just let me know in the comments ˖𖦹 ݁˖
My dearest townsfolk! You have no idea how excited I am for this series! It is a part of my Summerween collection, but since my main collection focuses on slashers, I decided to post the Coraline separately!
art by by K05062688 - twitter
button divider by @saradika-graphics
You're a normal girl in college, a broke little barista and trying your best to keep your scholarships up - Satoru Gojo is not normal, not at all - he's the six eyes, the clan leader, and about to have to marry and take over. The two of you wish for something different when a rare comet shoots across the sky. And that's when you wake up in his body - Satoru Gojo, a powerful sorcerer a world away, and he wakes up in your tiny little dorm bed, with a pair of tits. The two of you stare in the mirror at unfamiliar faces and wonder if any of this is real, and just who the two of you were - could you get back to your bodies, and was a different life really any better?
pairings - Sorcerer! Satoru x fem! reader
warnings Based on the movie your name obviously - it will be very angsty, but also kinda cute - you will keep body swapping throughout, there will be a time difference - fix it fic. Toru is 22, you're 21. size difference to make it more dramatic and funny, canon adjacent (yes, I'm writing him as a sorcerer hehe) Geto never defected, eventual smut, lots of character and plot, emotional - planning on four parts to this. taglist open <3
art by @3-aem of courssee <333
part one
Life was normal before that comet shot across the sky.
You were just a normal college student – struggling in physics, but doing great in everything else. You had a part time job at a coffee shop in your little town, you had a boy you had a crush on and a few friends, but mostly – you studied. You studied till your eyes burned, till they hurt so badly you fell asleep right on your desk, drooling on whatever text book you had.
You didn’t come from money – your family in fact was too broke to put you through college, but they loved you, they helped you get financial aid and scholarships so hopefully you could do better than they did. You loved them very much, too, there were video chats every day since you lived in the dorm outside of your city.
Days were just that – normal, as you worked on your degree, a wicked hangover on your twenty first birthday, where you finally got your first kiss. Yeah – you could say you were that much of an introvert, you hadn’t even done that yet. You wish you remembered it more, it was something quick and hasty as fireworks went off, it was that time of year when you were born.
Something special, something beautiful, but something was…
Off.
It was off even that day. Maybe your period was coming or something, but everything on the day of your twenty-first felt off – especially when you got that damn letter saying if you didn’t raise your physics grade you’d lose that funding.
Tears blurred your vision as you collapsed onto your bed with that letter, knowing if your parents knew how horribly you were doing they would be so disappointed. You couldn’t help but wish for an escape from the crushing weight of all these expectations – many of which you placed on yourself, rushing to take that invite and get positively drunk at a party.
You didn’t tell the guy it was your first kiss, you just did that – let him slide his tongue in your mouth and press you against a wall, then it was all a bit of a blur – you heading back to the dorm, sneaking away. Crying yourself to sleep even though you technically ‘had fun’.
Why did you feel so lonely, though?
Yet when you woke up, everything changed.
Your body changed.
Your fucking room changed.
You were no longer in your little dorm – you’re in some fancy ass, rich ass room with an enormous bed and black silk sheets. You gasp and worry – did you end up with that dude last night? Did you think you got home but got too fucked up!? Your heart hammers in your chest as you peek down – and then you see it.
You see it and fucking scream so loud, seeing you’re wearing boxers rather than panties – and instead of your pussy, there was a dick. Oh, not a small dick, either – and not a soft one, a fully hard, massive fucking cock was on your body.
“What the fuck!? What!?” You jump up and fall, unused to the lanky ass legs that are currently under you, ones that cannot be yours – pale and muscular and so goddamn long. You’re way too tall, so tall you’d hit your head in your fucking dorm, looking down at everything in shock, stumbling into a dresser.
Even your voice is deep and – sexy!? You rush over to this fancy dresser, gasping as you see a perfect face in a mirror – a man’s face, with beautiful blue eyes and cheekbones to fucking die for. You smack at that face as if reality will hit – seeing chest muscles where your titties should be, blushing in his pale skin as you see that bulge in the mirror.
You're inside the body of the hottest man you’ve ever seen in some fancy ass home you could never afford!
“It has to be some dream,” you curse and rush out, running down spiral stairs – how big is this man’s house?! It’s a whole fucking confusing mansion, you’re rushing through everything, trying to find some hint of who he could be – of what weird ass fever dream you’re having, when the door knocks. “One minute!”
You’re rushing over now, opening it and seeing a dark haired man look at your body, rolling his eyes. “Put on some clothes, Satoru. We have training.”
“Training?” He raises a brow at you, and you struggle to act normal, searching your brain for anything. “Training…”
“Yeah, Satoru – training. Just because you’re perfect at everything doesn’t mean me and Shoko don’t need more practice. We have to set a good example if we wanna teach some day.”
“Teach. Examples…”
The man blinks his amethyst eyes, looking right at you now, too close, so close you fucking blush again. “What’s wrong with you, Satoru?”
Satoru – who was Satoru?
*****
Satoru was exhausted as he trained his fucking ass off, entirely exhausted – he wanted a break, he wanted a vacation, he didn’t want to fight anymore curses, or see anymore of his old classmates die. He didn’t want to take over the Gojo family name, and he sure the fuck didn’t look forward to the inevitable arranged marriage the elders were about to place on him.
Standing in his shower since he was covered in grime from fucking curses exploding, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he was not born a Gojo at all – what would it be like if instead, he had been someone normal? If he was just a normal guy at college, and not training to teach the newbies at Jujutsu high?
If he were a normal twenty two year old man who wasn’t about to have to become the clan leader, and take on all this goddamn responsibility he didn’t ask for? Sure, Satoru loved to be the strongest – but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the constant effort, the secrets, the lies they told – the way everything fell on him and his friends, all the expectations making him drown.
He was a Gojo – they were the strongest, and that’s all there was to it. Day in, day out, everything was simple. KIll everything bad, save everyone he could, but goddamit if he wasn’t exhausted, if he didn’t just want to go be a normal guy – maybe go study physics, study theories of the universe he wishes even he could know more about.
Go look at the stars with a pretty girl and laugh, a girl he chose.
Yet that doesn’t appear to be anything he will get – no, he was born a Gojo, and that was that. Even falling asleep in his silk sheets that night, he could not stop his mind from racing, frowning as thoughts raced through his mind at a rampant pace.
How could Satoru Gojo ever live a normal life?
Well, he wondered what normal meant that next morning when he felt hungover – something he never, ever was. Satoru did not drink, it dulled his senses too much, but every now and then he had gone out with Suguru and Shoko, Nanami throwing back whiskey like it was nothing, but he could barely hold one without getting sick.
And does he feel sick – and he feels sad, more sad than before, like emotional in a way he can’t remember being. He reached out as he felt tears burning his eyes – that doesn’t happen, either. Satoru trained himself not to cry from a young age, but now he’s doing just that, his fingers touching unfamiliar cheeks that were wet with tears he hadn't shed in years.
Unfamiliar.
He looks at this shitty little bed then and screams, plopping out of it – his arms fucking flailing. He can’t even take looking at these thighs – not his lanky ass legs, no, they’re cute thighs, ones he himself would grab and spread if it belonged to a pretty girl underneath him. Cute lil socks on his ankles covered in kittens.
Kittens!?
Satoru stumbles again, bashing his head and feeling hair fall against his shoulders, shocked with that alone, but especially not being white. He stands and rushes to the little dresser – too small for him, everything is too small for him, but he is not six foot four, not one goddamn bit he realizes, looking at his reflection, at the pretty tits half falling out of a tank top spun.
Tits on his body!? He grabs them and squishes them in his hands, confused as fuck now, but he can’t help but keep squishing these pretty tits, as if they could rid him of the fucking stress, looking at the unfamiliar face. Softer features than his, completely different in every way – though she…
He!?
This body was beautiful, this face was lovely, the type of girl he’d flirt with or throw on his charm, but be just a little nervous, a little shy. Her lips are swollen as if she’d been kissed all night, he knows that look from women he’s been with, that hung over, fucked out look – though…
He doesn’t feel fucked – well how would he know!?!? He pulls aside those shorts, blushing and then covering back up, the panties were just a little wet, soaking the matching kittens. And that’s when it hits him, that clenching feeling in his tummy – he’s got a pussy.
And TITS.
Satoru Gojo is a…
Knock knock knock.
Maybe it’s Suguru and this is a joke, maybe this is a curse fucking with him – it’s one of those terrible fucking villains who make his life hell, and he’s cast under something. Or it’s a test – Yaga is fucking with him, making sure he can tell what’s real or not. Some Gojo initiation.
Anything but what this is – when a girl knocks at the door and smiles at Satoru, leaning against the door and crossing her arms.
“How was the first kiss, birthday girl?” She teases, Satoru blinks.
“Um… kiss…”
She says your name then.
Your name, is that your name?
Just who are you?
“Are you skipping physics? Aren’t you failing bad?” She asks now, clearly concerned as Satoru sputters.
HIM failing physics? There was no fucking way – well, that and Satoru IS NOT A WOMAN. “Failing? Nah, I don’t fail any subject.”
“Girl last night you were a mess about it, what’s wrong?” She asks again, he shakes his head, well – your head – and your phone is ringing. “Gonna get that?”
“Yeah.”
What’s your pattern!? What’s your phone pattern!? He tries so many times he gets completely locked out, cursing. “Maybe you’re still drunk?”
“Um yeah, I’m gonna take a shower and… get it together!” Satoru says, trying to get used to the girlie voice rather than his own, laughing as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck – much softer than his own. When she finally leaves he leans against the door, picking up that phone again – a glittery pink one.
What the fuck?
*****
You were wearing this unfamiliar dark clothing – you’ll give Satoru this, the man has taste – it was as fancy as clothing could get. You’re absolutely sure that it costs more money than anything in your dorm put together, even these shades you have to wear must be expensive.
One moment you’re another girl, the next – you’re seeing curses.
"Focus, Gojo,” Suguru is his name – apparently, the man with the long dark hair, smiling tiredly as he smokes a cigarette. “You’re off today.”
“Right, focus…” You trail off and sigh, holding up your hand and gasping when blinding light erupts from your palms, obliterating the practice dummies right in front of you. You stare at your shaking hands – huge ones, by the way, all of this goddamn man was huge. “I did that!?”
“Rub it in,” Shoko teases, laughing as she leans against Suguru, smoking a cigarette and laughing at you a bit. “We know you’re the best, Gojo. Stop acting as if you’re like us.”
“I’m not…” You trail off then, focusing on this insane fucking energy again, feeling it course through your veins.
You don’t even get tired, like something is regenerating you constantly.
What the fuck was this? What was this power, these creatures, any of it they were talking about? You can only hope when you go to bed tonight, everything is fucking normal – that you’re failing physics, and that you’re not a six foot four rich man who seemingly never gets a break.
And you thought you worked hard.
Every moment of Satoru Gojo’s day was taken up – from training, to this driver named Ijichi who takes him all over, to the next meeting where you have to fucking hope you can keep up this act, a room full of doors, interrogating Satoru about his upcoming wedding.
This man is getting married?
There are photos of prospective brides, and all you can do is shuffle through them, curious when the fuck you were going to wake up and not have a dick.
****
“You cheated on this test!” The professor of physics comes and yells at Satoru after he aces the test, he raises a brow at her. “No way you didn’t.”
“Why would I cheat?”
“You are the worst student in my class,” she slams the paper on Satoru’s desk, a blank test with different questions. “Do this, and I’ll watch you the whole time.”
His classmates – well they’re your classmates – look at him, all worried, but he aces the goddamn test again, until she’s sputtering. Satoru can see why you suck at physics, considering how mean she is – but luckily he just knows everything, and she can’t argue a second time.
“Well, I guess you pass.” She mumbles, handing him his paper with a hundred percent. “Barely!”
Satoru is tired when his phone goes off – work at six.
WORK.
He has to go work!?
He re-set your pattern to a fingerprint, so he got your phone open – and found just where you work, a little coffee shop. Satoru was a goddamn barista. He was getting bitched out by customers when he’s used to fighting curses – and that’s the craziest thing of all, besides having tits and a pussy.
He couldn’t see well – in fact, your vision was shitty. You had to wear glasses and these weird contact things, and he certainly couldn’t see curses – they could be all around, and he wouldn’t sense them.
He had to get back to his damn body.
*****
You’re so tired when you come back to the Gojo mansion you plop in the living room chair, yawning and kicking off his dress shoes, eyes shutting with your head leaned back. Your body is sore, and you still can’t sleep – this aching, gnawing feeling of being inside this huge body taking over, wondering just what sort of hallucination you were having.
You fall asleep on that couch, as Satoru crashes face first in your tiny little dorm room, and the two of you wonder…
Will you wake up from this weird fucking dream, of bodies you two can't recognize? Was any of this real?
patreon - comms
as these are short they'll actually be coming out fast hehe - this was eating me UP I can't wait for some juicy angst
a fully hard, massive fucking cock was on your body.
Tits on his body!? He grabs them and squishes them in his hands, confused as fuck now, but he can’t help but keep squishing these pretty tits,
Hmm, yes, very important details, absolutely crucial to the story 😂
Love the start to the story and seeing how both characters have struggles under completely different circumstances. Excited and dreading the promised angst coming up!
[ frat!kuna x sociallyawkward!f!reader ] running into the embodiment of your biggest fear disguised as a man— not once, but twice— wasn't bad enough. your best friend telling him that you're mute because you couldn't apologize due to your awful social skills was the cherry on top. as a result, you bite your tongue, even when you're alone. but the state of your tongue is definitely about to worsen, because another run-in with him at a party will change everything.
── .✦ TAGS
18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of nicotine/cigarettes. slight angst. hurt/comfort. MISCOMMUNICATION. slow burn. social discomfort. socially awkward reader. self-consciousness. overthinking. anxiety. social anxiety. making out. rough kissing. neck kissing. dry humping. slang. social media references. (later on… smut. oral (f! receiving). p in v.) -> tags will be updated as series continues.
── [ chapter 1 ] : look at me. (wc: 6.9K)
── [ chapter 2 ] : listen to me. (wc: 8.1K)
── [ chapter 3 ] : ...
── .✦ you prefer reading on Ao3?
art by @/naomiiocha on tumblr (left side) and @/neverisa on instagram (right side)
you're crying after a guy bothers you... and your boyfriend isn't about to let it slide.
bleehhh can't sleep and i made up this scenario w fratkuna sooooooooocontains college au frat!ryomen sukuna x midsize!fem!reader; themes of harrassment (the culprit is naoya bc i saw his ass in the manga😐), ryo is like ur knight but not in the toxic alpha male way ew & he punches a guy, & i'm using the hcs that toji, choso, & geto are all in a frat with him + the gojo twins are present (honorable mentions for twins satoshi "fratjo" gojo and satoru nerdjo🫶) and everyone goes to 'tokyo college of jujutsu tech', and dw it turns into fluff n comfort—btw this is noooottt proofread
"girl, you're really cute."
another nervous giggle, playing with a lock of your hair. jesus christ, you just wanted to get out of that fucking western poetry class.
you'd only taken the class because you needed a humanities elective, and it had looked interesting! unfortunately for you, though, every guy who thought they were a major philosopher and the next unbiological love child of nietzsche had also taken the class! and sadly, you had caught the attention of one of those guys—naoya zenin, one of the dean's relatives.
he was toji's cousin, you knew, and toji was your boyfriend's frat brother... so maybe you were fine? you tried to convince yourself you were as you sped walked out the door, naoya hot on your trail with a sleazy grin and a mouth full of harrassment.
"where ya goin'? class just ended, sweetie."
"i can't stay," you said quickly, heeled boots clicking rapidly against the floor. you'd dress so cute that—polka-dot glasses, a pink off-the-shoulder sweater, black skirt, and knee-high boots that really captured the prime look of a college girl! and it was being wasted because this motherfucker was ogling you. "i have to go back to my dorm."
"why? need an escort?"
"no, i know the way."
"well, someone might hassle you."
"somebody already is hassling me."
"huh?" that made naoya pause—but only momentarily. once he realized what you meant, he fell back into step behind you, seeming even more determined than before. "got some bite on you. i like that. lot of women don't know when they should play it easy or hard to get—you do."
you hated when guys couldn't just take no for an answer the first time. because that meant you had to use the next excuse up your sleeve—
"my boyfriend wouldn't like that you're following me. i really can't stay and talk, and i'd like it if you would kindly leave me alone."
you said it as curtly and politely as you could, then, before the surprised naoya could reboot and say anything else, you bolted through the doors of the humanities hall and out into the spring day.
campus was lively in the afternoon. there was ultimate frisbee and football being played, groups of friends on picnic blankets talking and tanning, girls swirling their boba and iced coffee as they commuted from classes and dorms—and there was ryomen's and a handful of his frat sitting on benches in the quad, lounging after smoking.
well, choso and geto were still slightly buzzed. toji hadn't taken a pass, and it took more than a few puffs to get to ryomen.
"oh my god, i can't feel my tongue," choso muttered, rubbing his eyes. his black mullet was shaggy, messed up, and he smelled like he'd been waterboarded in geto's cologne to cover up the post-smell of weed.
geto, sitting wide and strumming his guitar absently, grinned lazily. "you're too easy, man. second-hand molly in the wind would get you fucked."
"nuh-uh."
"uh-huh."
"shut the fuck up," toji muttered, waving his hand dismissively as he rubbed his face with the other. "i still have a goddamn headache."
"not our fault you hit your head on a fucking table last night," ryomen laughed.
toji groaned, turning his head to look off into the distance. the activity on campus only worsened his pulsing skull. "swear to god, 'm concussed or something. shouldn't have on that chair when i was drunk."
"you should've came." choso tapped ryomen's knee. "where were you?"
"with his giiiirrrllll," geto teased.
"yeah, yeah." ryomen didn't care if everyone in all of fucking tokyo knew he was whipped—he was whipped for you, his sweet little girlfriend. "not my fault i wanna spend one night of the weekend watchin' pretty woman again instead of watching toji crack his head open."
like he was summoned by his name, toji started shaking ryomen's shoulder. "dude."
"one sec—" ryomen was about to say something else to choso, but toji wrenched his arm to the side. "what the fuck! what?"
"look where i'm fuckin' looking." toji pointed across the quad. "isn't that—"
"holy shit," geto said when he saw you briskly walking and crying, like you were trying to escape someone—you had been.
choso frowned when he followed everyone's line of sight. "is that your girlfriend? why is she crying?"
"i... gotta go." ryomen got up from the bench without another word and started across the quad. when he realized how fast you were walking, he thanked god that he was an athlete and started running after you. "hey!"
when you hear a male voice, you automatically moved quicker, expecting it to be naoya again—but then it repeated, and you recognized ryomen.
"baby? hey, slow the hell down!"
fuck. you didn't want him to see you crying. think, think, think—
but it was too late. ryomen had reached you, grabbed you by the shoulder, and turned you around in an instant. "shit, thought i was going to lose you. what's—"
you couldn't held but sob even harder when he began to ask you what was wrong, and ryomen gaped at your puffy, round face, smudged mascara, and the salty streams of tears down your cheeks.
"oh god, angel. what's wrong? c'mere, can i hold you?"
as expected, since he had the biggest soft spot and change of attitude when he was with you, ryomen engulfed you in the comforting embrace of his arms and let you bury your face and ruined makeup against his racing jacket.
"ok, ok," he whispered softly against your hair as he stroked it. "deep breaths. in and out, yeah? gotta calm down and take proper breaths. can i see your purse, please, hon? don'tcha keep tissues in there?"
"i—" you wheezed slightly, trying not to choke on tears or words. "i was gonna wait inside until i looked for 'em..."
"all right, well, i'm here now. let me see."
carefully, he slipped your purse off your shoulder, located the pack of tissues inside, then extracted one so that he could dab your face gently. "there we go. better, hm? keep breathing f'me, just like that, pretty girl."
when you had calmed down enough to not explosively weep again, ryomen caressed the side of your face and asked, "tell me what happened."
you crossed your arms, lips pursed in a pout. "no."
you knew what he would do if you told him that naoya zenin bothered you...
"what? fuck you mean—" he inhaled slowly, then tried again, softer. "angel, how can i help if i don't know what's wrong? or—how are you gonna feel better if you don't talk about what made you cry like that? i mean, you were going pretty fast in those heels, i imagine something happened."
after a pause, he hardened. "did someone fucking do something to you?"
"ryo—"
"nah, don't give me that soft stuff. tell me who and what."
"it wasn't anything serious!" you insisted, holding him tightly. "seriously."
"tell. me."
"promise me you won't be mad!"
"no."
"ryo!"
"was it a guy?" he brushed a few hairs out of your face, grimacing. "i'll beat the shit out of him if it was."
"it was a small incident. small, that's it."
"or was it a girl? 'cuz satoshi's brother satoru knows a girl named shoko in pre-med, she'll fight anyone—unless you don't care if i do it, because i'll hit anyone you ask, babe—"
"stop!" you shook him slightly. "a guy kept following me around and bothering me, i just wanted him to go away—and he did! he just... overwhelmed me. i was scared."
ryomen stared at you when you finished speaking. he blinked a few times and nodded slowly, tongue against the inside of his cheek. "ok. yeah, ok."
you frowned, watching as his face contorted. "what?"
"this happened just now?"
"um... like ten minutes ago."
"where?"
you picked at your nails, growing nervous. "...the humanities building."
he'd turned on his heel without a second thought, and you hurried after him, having known he probably would've gone off the moment you gave him all the details, like a bloodhound with a scent for prey.
"wait—ryo! it's not that big of a deal!"
"not that big of a deal my ass." he was practically snarling.
who you didn't expect to see soon after ryomen was on his war path was the culprit himself. naoya was crossing the pavement, staring at his phone—but when he saw the tattooed, six-foot-four jock headed his general direction, he couldn't help but freeze. you also stopping, surprised and wary, was a dead giveaway on who the guy ryomen was looking for was.
ryomen glanced between naoya and you, then pointed. "him?"
you slowly let go of his arm, knowing there was little you could do to help the situation or stop your boyfriend. "yeah..."
calmly—too fucking calmly—he continued down the sidewalk until he was a few yards from naoya, then he nodded once and said, "hey, man."
naoya, contemplating fight or flight, tried to remain casual and nodded back. "hey..."
"wanna ask you—you bother that girl over there earlier?" he jutted a thumb over his shoulder, at your nervous figure in the distance.
"i didn't bother her. i was just talking to her."
"in what way."
"huh?"
"In what way—because you sound like a really shitty guy to talk to if she walked away crying."
"not my fault she didn't—"
before naoya could finish casting off whatever blame onto you, ryomen winded back a tight fist and clocked him in the nose.
naoya yowled in pain the moment the fist connected with his face, and he recoiled, hands snapping up to cover his soon-to-bleed nose. "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"ryomen!" you cried from behind him.
across the quad, it seemed that the others ryomen were with before had witnessed everything.
"ry!" toji waved a relaxed arm, like he knew ryomen had everything handled but still wanted to be nice and extend an offer. "good?"
ryomen cracked his knuckles, then wrung out his pulsing hand. "yeah, he shouted back. "good."
"is she ok?" choso called over, pointing at you.
"i'll take care of her."
"'kay, i guess." geto watched the entire thing with a skeptical look. "see you later."
without exchanging any words, ryomen returned to you and carted you up to his dorm. he was glad that you didn't protest or refuse to go with him—he surely thought you were mad at him, until you whispered the soft "thank you" to him at his door. he simply kissed your head and pushed the door open.
in his dorm, he insisted you clean while he ordered food. lounging in his bed, shirtless now and just in a pair of sweatpants, he scrolled on his phone while resting a hand on you. you'd positioned yourself beside him after cleaning off your tear-streaked makeup and changing into one of his hoodies.
"sushi and boba, or thai?" ryomen asked, rubbing slow circles on your thighs. he loved to grip the plush there, to kiss up from your calf to the softness of your belly—he would later, but right then, he was focused on getting you fed and rested, the two things he thought key in recovering from bad days. "wait. chinese?"
you ran a hand through his hair and leaned over to peck his cheek. "anything."
"you always say that, baby."
"i know."
"ok. sushi and boba."
you smiled. "i trained you right."
taking a moment, ryomen dropped his phone and grabbed your jaw to bring you in for a full, proper kiss that lasted until you were both breathless. and when you pulled away only slightly, hovering closely above him, lips still brushing, he licked his lips and smiled. "you're ok, right? not mad?"
"no," you said, tilting your head slightly. "not mad. maybe a little annoyed that you always jump to violence, but... i really appreciate you wanting to protect me. i know you just want me to be all right in the end."
"damn right i do. i love you, gorgeous."
smiling, you kissed him once more. "i love you too, ryo. now order the food before the place closes."
send me asks <3
buy me a kofi
divider creds to @anitalenia check them out their work is so gorg!!!!
sukuna sprawled out on your shared bed, two arms above his head, one across his stomach, and another lied idly on your thigh. his hair was messy, strands all over the place, and a few somehow shaped into bangs over his forehead. his stomach-mouth was open, softly snoring while showing off his large fangs.
and although he looked so comfortable, and the moonlight softly shone through the curtains of your quarters, you took a minute to leave. softly, you moved his large hand off your thigh, placing it close to where you slept instead.
after you’ve quietly retreated to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, sukuna almost immediately woke up from the loss of your touch.
he softly grumbled when he didn’t feel your body warmth, then he grabbed at what he wanted to be you, but instead met with sheets.
a huff escaped him, and he turned onto his side with a groan, half sitting up and using a hand to prop himself up.
“wife..” he called out, mumbling with his natural rough voice, a frown appearing on his face.
and almost as if you could sense how he already missed you dearly, not knowing how long you’d been gone, you slowly creaked the door open, walking in with a glass of water. as you sat it on the nightstand, your heart ached as sukuna blearily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. he slowly blinked up at you like a cat, and his hair stuck up in many different directions.
some drool escaped the corner of his mouth, and you smiled. he probably didn’t even notice.
finally, you climbed into bed again, softly mumbling, “i know, i’m here,” with a smile as he already began reaching towards you to pull you closer.
your hand found his chest, and you rubbed comforting circles on his tattoos as you left a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. before you could pull away, he softly nudged your head with his, letting out a soft sigh as his hand found your back.
but you reached up, hand finding his hair as you play with it. he pushed his head into your hand, asking for more touch.
“you have bed head hair,” you whispered as his eyes nearly closed.
but he murmured, shaking his head with a pout, “i do not,” he let out a dramatic huff, glaring at you with all four eyes.
“whatever you say, honey,” you mumbled as you looked down at him, hand still running through his hair.
and within seconds, he’s asleep as quickly as he woke up. this time, he’s lulled to sleep by your touch. he’s right where he wants to be, falling asleep every night in the arms of his wife.
ib this art by sukunaglazer23 on twt he’s so adorable oml
summary: hockey star satoru gojo has an unhealthy obsession with his teammate toji's girlfriend and would do anything to make you his.
wc: 13.7k
18+ | gojo masterlist
late february
satoru gojo was having one of the worst days of his life. despite the fact that he just scored enough goals to get his team to the stanley cup playoffs and been promoted to team captain, he was fucking miserable.
his teammates were crowding around him, lifting him into the air as they (and the crowd) chanted: "gojo! gojo! gojo!" in all honesty, it should have been the best day of his life, all things considered. he had worked his ass off since he first stepped on the ice at five years old in order to get here. missed out on being a normal teenager as he dedicated his life to hockey, being the youngest in his generation to be drafted at only seventeen years and eight months old. earning a spot as of one of the greats at his age.
his first two years of college were spent playing for his uni's team to hone in on his skills and by his third year he had been able to graduate early and go straight into the nhl where he's been playing for four years now.
so yes, he should be happy. his jersey had a "c" for captain, his team was going to the fucking stanley cup playoffs and he had women willing to throw themselves at him in hopes that he would give them a sliver of attention.
his only problem was you. his teammates girlfriend that he was downright obsessed with.
you stood behind the glass, dressed in an oversized blue jersey that had his team's name and acted as a dress. you were wearing black tights underneath it, knee high leather boots rising up your legs that formed vile thoughts in his head. you were watching with excitement and hearts in your eyes. hands clapping as your friend whispered something in your ear. you weren't paying attention though, eyes locked on the man that skated his way off the ice and toward you.
fucking toji fushiguro.
satoru had been friends with him in high school but they grew apart when toji joined a frat in university. he was too busy with hockey to fuck around and the friendship slowly fizzled out before he graduated ahead of his class. then a year later toji graduated and got drafted onto the same team as satoru. the friendship was never what it was before, the men only seeing each other as teammates and nothing more.
satoru had never thought of himself as a jealous person. from elementary to college he had always been considered a "popular" guy, able to get any girl he wanted without putting in much effort and most men wanted to be him.
even now. he was a goddamn superstar, stupid fucking rich and living out his childhood dreams. he wanted for nothing except for the one thing he couldn't have: you.
it was a brutal reminder that you were someone else's when fushiguro picked you up and spun you around, lips locked against yours. the number 12 plastered in a big white font on the back of your jersey. toji's number.
satoru was annoyed but eventually found the strength to tear his eyes away from you, stomach twisted in knots at the fact that you weren't wearing his number. he allowed a smile to stretch across his face as his team huddled around him, his ego reminding him that he was satoru fucking gojo.
even though his heart screamed at him that it didn't matter if he couldn't have you.
later that night he was five shots deep in some shitty liquor, pretending to enjoy himself at some equally shitty party that was meant to celebrate the team qualifying for the playoffs.
he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him, her leg thrown over his lap as she kissed on his neck and whispered vulgar things in his ear, breath reeking of alcohol and mint gum. she had no shame that a few of his teammates sat at the same booth, deep in conversation about the days game and some other bullshit he didn't care about.
he was too busy trying to the hide the glare that was forming on his face, because sitting right across from him was you.. and toji. and you had the nerve to be dressed like that, tempting his restraint. questioning his morals.
toji's arm was thrown around your shoulder, your body slightly turned toward him. it gave satoru the perfect view of the dip in your waist as he tossed back his sixth shot, the bodysuit you wore doing nothing to hide the hips he often dreamed of digging his hands into.
what the fuck was his problem? he had a girl practically eating his face right now and all he could do was eye you like some virgin loser.
he moved to take another shot when you laughed at something toji said. your nose crinkled as you tried to control your laughter, hair falling into your face as you titled your head down. finding some joke toji said funnier than it probably was. his heart thumped loudly at the sound, the music bumping in the club drowning out over the noise of blood rushing in his ears.
he was convinced you were an angel and it only confused him even more that you were with someone like toji. sure, he's only known you for the five months you'd been dating his teammate and not on a personal level but he knew his former friend since they were teens and he had always been a jerk that toyed with girls like it was his favorite pastime.
not that he hadn't had his fair share of one night stands, but he wouldn't do that to you. never you.
what could you possibly find so interesting about him that you hardly looked at satoru when in the same vicinity as him? it frustrated him to no end. he knew that he could treat you better than toji could if only you would acknowledge him.
"want to get out of here?" the woman whispered in his ear. he didn't even remember her name and it annoyed him that it wasn't you asking him that question.
satoru checked himself when he found his hand moving to push her off of him. it wasn't her fault that she wasn't you, and he was in need of releasing some tension. especially when you showed up dressed like the goddess of seduction herself, making his dick rock hard and throbbing with lust the moment he laid eyes on you.
he was pathetic, really. you were toji's girlfriend.
he waited a few more minutes to see if you would look at him just once tonight. even a small glance would satisfy satoru at this point, but you didn't. you talked to everyone but him, flashing those glossy eyes at toji like he painted the fucking sky.
only when he stood, girl latched tight to his arm as if she were afraid he'd slip away, did you finally look at him. satoru almost dropped to his knees right there, head at your feet while he offered the world to you. thankfully his dignity was still intact and he didn't make a fool of himself, or his date that was begging to be fucked.
"hey! i didn't get the chance to tell you earlier but you did great out there today." you smiled at him, completely oblivious to the way your innocent words tugged at his heart.
satoru let his smirk cover up how fucking whipped you had him. how ready he was to say fuck it and pull you into his arms right in front of toji, daring his teammate to do something about it.
"yeah? 'preciate it beautiful." and the way your eyes widened at the pet name he decided at this very moment he would call you from now on, had him biting back a chuckle. you were so fucking cute, teasing him with your mere presence like he didn't know how to bite back.
clearly the name was far less amusing to toji, who shot him a glare and not so subtly pulled you closer to him. satoru fought the urge to roll his eyes, though he was satisfied he got under his skin. it filled his big head with the idea that toji's insecurity meant you would possibly give him a chance.
why else would the dark haired meathead act like satoru threatened his relationship with a nickname as simple as beautiful?
"fuck off, gojo." toji huffed, face scrunched in annoyance while satoru was cool as a cucumber, smirk widening as placed his hands in his pockets. he was beyond amused at toji's frazzled state. what an insecure dud.
"what? can't recognize a beautiful woman when i see one?" he continued with his taunting, his plan officially set in motion. satoru would just have to woo you until you realized toji was a brain-dead loser and he was much better for you.
didn't you know how good you two would look together? how good he could be to you?
"eat a dick, dude."
satoru only laughed and shot you a wink, savoring the way your eyes widened even further before he turned and pulled the woman out of the club.
while he was balls deep in his date that night, pounding his irritation away, he thought of you. how much tighter you likely were. how you were probably a huge freak underneath that shy act you put on in public. and when he finally pulled out, ripping the condom off his swollen cock as he stroked his load onto the stomach below him, he imagined he was still buried deep inside you. condom nonexistent as he filled you to the brim with his hot cum.
ㅤ
you were exhausted after your night out with toji, celebrating his teams recent big win until three in the morning. a choice you immediately regretted as you woke up in the same outfit you wore last night, one you had hoped would get your boyfriend's attention.
you made sure not to drink that night, desperately needing to get laid and not wanting toji to turn you away because you were too drunk. he had been stressed lately, with it being the middle of hockey season and all, and he hadn't fucked you in some weeks now. so to say you were disappointed when he only kissed you and wished you good luck on your finals tomorrow, would be severely understating it.
part of you wondered if he was seeing someone else. you'd only been dating five months now, so when he started dodging every hint you threw his way that you were in need of physical affection, red flags started flying.
you could understand and appreciate how busy he was. you were on your last year of law school, studying for the bar exam and getting ready for an internship at one of the most powerful firms in the country. you were busy yourself but you still found time for him, even if it would screw you over in the end.
you really shouldn't have gone out with toji last night, but he had begged and pleaded with you until you had no choice but to say yes so he could stop whimpering like a dog. you threw on your sexiest outfit, doused yourself in his favorite perfume and wore your new victoria's secret lingerie.
he had eyed you like you were candy, giving you a sloppy kiss and a smack on the ass before walking you to his car. you had been even more hopeful when toji became oddly possessive after gojo called you beautiful. the comment had left you flustered, cheeks burning from the sudden attention that you didn't know how to respond to.
gojo had stared at you like you were the only woman in the room and it had you dumbstruck. toji had never looked at you that intensely and it left you feeling shy and exposed. so when he finally pulled you closer, it gave you the false idea that your outfit would be ripped off you the second he took you back to his place.
only toji hadn't done either of those things. he had dropped you back at your apartment, kissed you goodnight after a silent car ride and pulled off before you could even close the door.
now you lay in bed still horny, head pounding from a lack of sleep and if the clock on your nightstand was correct, an hour away from one of the most important exams of your life. you sighed, pulling your phone off the charger as you checked your messages.
shoko (8:30am): hey babes, you up? wanna grab coffee before our exams?
shoko (8:50am): hellooo?
shoko (9:00am): boo, you whore. i just seen a pap picture of you with toji last night so you're either out cold rn after a long night of fucking or you're still getting your back blown out. 🤣
shoko (9:05am): i gtg, professor won't let me retake if i miss this test. love you, don't make choices i wouldn't!
dad (9:06am): hi honey. how's law school treating you? call your old man when you get the chance.
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you wondered what shoko would think if you told her you did in fact not get your back blown out. instead you went to bed alone, doubting your relationship more than you already did. that the satoru gojo showed more interest in you than your own boyfriend did.
your stomach still tickled at the way he called you beautiful. such a simple name that left you feeling like a cat in heat. not that you'd ever admit that to anyone outside of yourself.
you were still unsure of how to feel about his nickname. on one hand you were in a relationship with his teammate and shouldn't entertain comments from other men. on the other, the crush you had on the hockey superstar still lingered somewhere deep in you.
when you first started dating your boyfriend, it had been with the intention of getting a little closer to the man with sharp blue eyes and white hair, that had been at the center of your dreams every fucking night. toji was hot but he wasn't really your type, so you were surprised when you found yourself actually falling for him two months into the relationship.
you met him at some party shoko dragged you to back in september, right before hockey season started. you hadn't really been checking for him, searching the room for gojo but he hadn't been there. so you cracked and gave him a chance after he kept "accidentally" bumping into you.
he made you feel like you were the hottest girl in the room that night, his hand on your lower back all night, whispering the crudest of comments in your ear until he took you back to his condo and fucked you into the mattress.
you hadn't been expecting him to ask you for your number before he dropped you back home, assuming this was a one night stand and nothing more. you weren't stupid. you knew the reputation most athletes had, especially toji fushiguro. but he clearly had an interest in you as he started texting you almost daily for hookups until two weeks later when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend right before his first game of the season.
now here you were, feeling more neglected than ever and you'd only been dating the man five months. this is why you'd been single for more than four years before meeting toji. men were complicated and more often than not, a waste of time. in the end it would always be you and your rose toy.
you opened up instagram next, scrolling through your friends stories before you stopped on gojo's which had a green circle around his icon. close friends? you quickly went to your notifications tab, hands shaking as your heart thumped. thumped. thumped! eyes bulging when you saw:
satorugojo followed you back (3 hrs ago). plus some of his 3.5 million followers that had followed you in response.
oh! you swallowed hard, clicking on his story and seeing he posted a picture of himself at the gym. athletic shorts riding low on his hips. grey boxers showing. white happy trail peeking from his black shirt that rose as he lifted one arm, showing off his ridiculous muscles. blue airpod max's snug on his head of wild white hair.
no days off 💪🏻 he captioned it. posted at 6:30am.
out of pure instinct you went to screenshot it before stopping yourself. this is your boyfriends teammate, what the fuck were you doing? you weren't some weird fan anymore, you were toji's girlfriend. snap out of it!
you forced yourself to close the app, texted your father that you would call him after your exam and quickly stripped and hopped in the shower. you spent twenty minutes reciting your mental notes on criminal law, civil law, etc.. you really shouldnt have went out last night.
after brushing your teeth and fixing your hair, you were out the door and thanking god that you lived close to campus or else you would have missed your exam. all because you were drooling over the fact that another man followed you on social media. get real!
you were grateful that shoko had been waiting for you the moment you stepped out of that too stuffy lecture room three hours later. the exam itself went fine. though you'd occasionally hear gojo's voice calling you beautiful, you had locked in and been the first one finished.
you were beyond drained and immediately dropped your head on her shoulder, mumbling about how you couldn't wait to graduate and you were never going to a party again. and something about fuck men.
"uh huh, it must suck getting fucked all night and almost missing your exams. poor (name)." she jokingly patted your back until you lifted your head to glare at her.
"i would find that funny if i'd actually gotten any."
"again?!"
twenty minutes later you sat in front of your best friend at a local cafe, wearing your heart on your sleeve as you ranted to her about your relationship issues.
"i just don't understand him, sho. i go out of my way to dress how i know he likes, wear perfumes that he says are his favorite and all i get is a smack on the ass. almost like i'm his dog begging for praise and he's patting my head and calling me a good girl."
shoko was empathic but had a look that said she didn't really know what to say. it was usually her in your position, while you never really had the patience for a relationship. it was the occasional one night stand for you, preferring to fixate on fictional men who would never disappoint you as real men often did.
toji was the perfect example of that. he'd been so hot and cold lately. kissing you at his games and acting like a loving boyfriend, to barely acknowledging you and leaving you aching for more.
"fuck one of his teammates."
you choked on your latte, looking around to make sure no one heard what she said as you attempted to regain your composure. when you finally calmed down enough you shot her a scowl, embarrassed at your little episode that had a few people staring like you'd pissed in their coffee.
"what? honestly i don't know why you went for him when suguru geto was right there but i'll try not to judge you too much." she had a shit eating grin on her face which only made you want to sink into the ground even more.
you had no plans to cheat on toji when you didn't even have proof that he was doing the same to you. but your mind still drifted to gojo. if you were going to sleep with any of them, it would be him for sure. or maybe you'd switch teams and go for that hot soccer player ryomen sukuna. but you weren't a cheater so you didn't allow that thought to simmer in your head.
though you were curious as to why he followed you, especially after he'd called you beautiful last night. why were you still stuck on that anyway? it was just a name he probably called twenty different women as everyone knew satoru gojo was a major flirt. but it was the first time he called you that.
"enough about me." you attempted to regain some control over the conversation. "how'd your exam go? you're almost done with med school! are you gonna stay in the city?"
"don't know." she shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. "thinking of working in a high school. if not, maybe moving a few cities over. enjoy some new scenery y'know?"
of course you did. you sometimes found yourself dreaming of starting somewhere fresh that wasn't your hometown but something had always kept you tethered here. maybe it was your irrational fear of change, or the stability you had here. family, friends, career. there hadn't really been a reason for you to leave.
just then your phone buzzed.
toji 💘: think you could stop by the rink? finishing up practice in 30 and wanted to see your pretty face.
✮
"why are you just standing there? move your feet!" satoru yelled at his team, tired from the early start to his day when he'd only gotten about four hours of actual rest. he wasn't usually this cranky, typically cracking jokes with the boys or giving them words of encouragement but he was still on edge from the fact that you'd actually spoken to him last night.
satoru didn't know what it was about you that left him so dizzy with obsession, when he'd never acted this way over a woman before. he had girlfriends sure, some he cared about but never anything too serious or long-term, preferring to focus on his future in the leagues and not wanting anything to distract him from that.
until you walked in the room. you'd been there to watch toji practice, dressed in low rise jeans that showed off your waist jewelry and straps to your pink lingerie. a matching long sleeve crop top and cardigan to protect your arms from the chill of the facility.
he thought he might propose to you right then and there. call it love at first sight. you were insanely hot and walked with a confidence that made every man and woman stop and stare at you. even coach stole a glance when he thought no one was looking.
he was hooked from that day forward. never missing a day of practice just in case you might show up, even if it bothered him that you were there to see toji and not him. he looked forward to seeing what outfit you'd wear or how you'd style your hair. he even noticed little things, like if you were in a good mood you'd be straight faced but if you were annoyed, you'd have a forced smile on your lips to keep up appearances.
on those days he wanted to yell at toji for not keeping you happy enough, though he knew that was unfair. plus you weren't his to worry about, even if he desperately wanted you to be. but for now he would settle for breathing the same air as you if that was all he could get.
"who the fuck are you talking to huh?! i dare you to say that shit again!" a yell broke through his thoughts. when he looked to the ice, toji was pushing suguru back with a mean shove. almost knocking satoru's friend on his ass and making him drop his stick.
"what, you gonna hit me fushiguro? i'm not one of the newbies, you don't scare me." suguru was calm as ever, amusement dancing in his eyes as he straightened himself. satoru was tempted to stand back and watch, getting some kind of sick enjoyment out of watching whatever suguru said make toji turn red with anger.
"actually, I think the next time i say it out loud it'll be to your pretty little girlfriend. oh there she is! what do you think fushiguro? she might want to know-" before suguru could finish, toji landed a punch right to the man's nose that sent him flying to the ground.
"are you two idiots done?" satoru yelled onto the rink, standing where coach usually does as he was filling in for him today. "fushiguro, you're out for the day. go home and blow off some steam. don't come back tomorrow if you still feel you need to attack your own teammate."
toji wasn't hearing it as he skated aggressively off the rink until he was behind the board and glaring at satoru as his cheeks flared red. "fuck you, you're not coach."
satoru lifted a brow, fighting the urge to give the man the same treatment he just gave suguru. "nah, but i am your captain and i said to fucking go home. or does the c on my jersey mean nothing anymore?"
if it were possible, you'd be able to see the steam shooting from toji's ears as he thought about what to say next before huffing and moving to sit on the bench, taking his skates off and pushing past satoru, storming to the locker room. satoru wondered what suguru had said to make the man so upset, watching as the doors that led to the backrooms closed behind him with a loud bang!
he didn't have much time to ponder on it before he noticed you standing at the entrance door, eyes wide as you watched the commotion. he wondered how much you saw, but really he was concerned with how much time he'd have to talk to you before toji came back and dragged you away.
he hadn't expected to see you again so soon but the surprise was more than welcomed.
he watched, eyes cloudy with desire as you walked further into the facility. hands holding a takeout bag, face set in confusion as you looked around, unsure of what to do after walking in on your boyfriend behaving like a psychopath.
satoru would never embarrass you like that.
when your eyes met his he raised his hand to wave you over, fighting back a smile as he watched you ponder over if it was a good idea or not after you'd just watched your boyfriend curse him out.
he finally felt like he could breathe again when you started walking toward him, dressed in a grey sweatsuit, faux fur jacket and a fitted cap. you were stunning and satoru almost choked on the drool that was forming at the sight of you.
when he turned to make sure geto was alright, he saw the man was already back up and finishing his drills with the others. satoru made a mental note to ask him what his mess with fushiguro had been about and why he mentioned you. for now, you would have his undivided attention.
"hi beautiful." his voice was raspy from yelling at the team for the past two hours, but he was satisfied to see the unintended effect it had on you. the slight widening of your eyes, pretty lips covered in gloss parting in surprise, the way you tightened your grip on the takeout bag.
"oh, i-" you bite your lip before relaxing your shoulders, releasing a breath and giving him a small smile that he knew he would be thinking about for the rest of the day. "hi."
satoru tried his best not to grin but you made it so hard. look at how cute you were, stuttering over being called beautiful when you were so much more than that. he would make sure he reminded of you that everyday when you were his, since toji was a clearly failing as a boyfriend.
"brought me lunch? how sweet. you didn't have to do that, princess."
princess? satoru had no idea where that one came from, he'd never called a woman that before but he could tell you liked it by the way your smile widened and your eyes softened. he would stick with that one then.
he felt like he was gonna melt with the way you had his body burning with a deep, scorching need that pulled in his stomach. a need that had him wondering how soft your lips were, what the gloss you wore tasted like, and what your skin felt like under his hands.
"i actually.. uhm- it's for toji. what happened with him and geto?"
satoru's mouth soured at the sound of his name taking up room in your conversation. he wanted to learn a little more about you before the beast came back and whisked you away.
but this was a good opportunity for him to get your number. yeah, he could work with this.
"not sure yet, princess. but if you want i can text ya after i talk with suguru, that way you get both sides of the story and not just whatever fushiguro tells you."
he watched as you swallowed, eyes tracing the movement of your lips and letting them fall to your exposed neck and the way your gold jewelry sat so perfectly across your skin. the captain of the number one hockey team in the world right now, was totally checking out his teammate's girlfriend and felt not even an ounce of shame about it.
embarrassment was never really satoru gojo's style. if he was one thing, it was confident. plus what was wrong with him letting you know he found you attractive? if your relationship with fuhsiguro was strong, then the man had nothing to worry about.
"you want my number? i don't know.. wouldn't that be inappropriate since-" you stop and lick your lips and satoru thinks he died and came back to life. "i'm dating your friend?"
mood fucking ruined.
"fushiguro isn't my friend. strictly teammates." the words came out harsher than he meant it and his heart sank at the way you shrunk back, the tension from earlier returning.
"i'm sorry, i didn't mean-"
"(name), what the fuck are you doing? we're leaving now!" toji's voice interrupted as soon as satoru reached out to touch your arm and you were gone in blink, spitting out a "s-sorry, sorry!" while chasing after your boyfriend who lacked the decency to even wait for you.
rage boiled inside of satoru, his fists clenched at his side, watching as you stopped the door front hitting you before disappearing behind it. toji was a fucking monster and you deserved better than him.
he had a new goal now. he would get you away from his teammate and then he would make you his. that started with finding out what suguru had against fushiguro that set him off and-
fuck! he didn't get your number.
✮
the car ride was awkward as fuck to say the least. toji was beyond pissed, one hand gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles turned white, the other placed on your thigh squeezing considerably softer, grip still possessive as he swerved through traffic.
you wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he had ignored you when you asked the first time, as you followed him out of the training facility. you took that as a sign that he didn't want to talk about it and stayed quiet. opting to scroll through your phone instead, not a clue in the world where he was taking you.
dad (1:03pm): how did the exam go? i just talked to nishimura and he says you're all good to start your internship after your grades are released. don't forget to call! love you honey.
you (1:30pm): it went great! thanks for getting me the internship dad, I really appreciate it. can I call in 20?
dad (1:30pm): 👍
just as you were going to put your phone away, an instagram notification came through that had your cheeks heating instantly.
satorugojo (just now): number, princess? forgot to get it before the big bad wolf stole you away.
oh my god! you had no idea what he was doing or why he was suddenly so interested in you but it put you on guard. the crush you harbored still lingering somewhere inside you. locked away out of respect for toji. and it would stay there. you had no plans to disrespect your relationship unless toji did first.
so you ignored the message and locked your phone with painstaking difficulty, giving the man next to you your attention. face still heated from gojo's message. the fangirl in you screaming at the fact that li ole' you managed to get the satoru gojo's attention.
"where are we going?" you asked your boyfriend, hoping he didn't notice your reaction to gojo's dm. you needed to get real. he was probably giving ten other women the same attention that he gave you. he was satoru gojo after all. number one hockey player on the rink, world's biggest flirt off the rink.
"taking ya home. i have some business i need to take care of." he kept his eyes on the road, jaw still tight with annoyance from his earlier interaction with geto and gojo.
you frowned, fingers tightening around the lunch you'd bought for toji. if you weren't annoyed before, you definitely were now. he's the one that asked to see you and now he was ditching you. again.
"what business?" your voice was low as you attempted to stop yourself from cursing him out. you didn't do relationships often but when you gave a man the time of the day, you never allowed them to treat you like this. toji fushiguro wasn't the exception.
his grip tightened around the steering wheel and you thought he might rip it off with the way the skin under his fingernails turned red.
"nothing you need to know." he removed his hand from your thigh, moving it to hold onto the gearshift.
how fucking dare he? "hey asshole, you asked to see me! i deserve to know why you're wasting my time and ditching me without even properly saying hello."
"are you deaf, woman? i just told you to drop it!" woman? you were seeing red.
"fine! maybe i'll ask geto what had you angry enough to punch him, since we're keeping secrets now."
toji slammed on the breaks at a red light, sending your body forward before your back hit the seat again. you dropped the food on the floor, whipping your head to stare at the man beside you who had clearly lost his mind.
"are you crazy?!"
toji was already staring at you, a death glare painting his face, veins protruding in his forehead, his hair half covering his eyes. he looked murderous but you weren't going to back down.
"i'll only tell you this once: stay the fuck away from him and gojo, (name). ya hear me?"
you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms as toji turned and started driving again, flipping off the person that honked for him to go. you didn't take your attention from him though.
"or what? i wouldn't have to go to other men to find out what's going on with my own boyfriend if you'd actually talk to me! for crying out loud, you punched your teammate then act like i'm in the wrong for wanting to know why."
you couldn't believe this is what your first argument with toji was about. not him neglecting your needs five months into your relationship, but him hitting someone and refusing to talk to you about it. it was pathetic really. even more so that you kept giving him the time of the day. his behavior was off and did nothing to help the growing suspicion that he was cheating on you or hiding something worse.
toji ran his free hand down his face but stayed silent, keeping his eyes locked on the road as if he suddenly cared about driving safe when he just slammed on the breaks, nearly giving you whiplash.
"let me out." you sighed. he was close enough to your apartment anyways and you'd rather walk then deal with his bullshit for another minute.
it shouldn't have surprised you when he only mumbled "fine" and pulled into a gas station. speeding off after you slammed the door shut. you were so fucking mad that your brain short circuited and before you could even process what you were doing, you opened instagram and went to the dm you got a few minutes ago, typed in your number and hit the send button.
when you made it back to your place, you sat at the desk in your living room and opened your laptop. that's where you sat for the next four hours, phone turned off, studying for the bar exam. not letting a man distract you from what was actually important.
not until the clock read 5:55pm and you were stretching your sore back as you made your way to the kitchen to get some food, turning your phone on to finally call your dad who answered on the first ring. your face frowned when you were bombarded with notifications but you ignored them for now.
"(name), thank god! are you alright, do you need me to come down there? i'll kill him if he hurt you-" your father rambled, a calm fury lacing his voice that he typically reserved for his opponents in the courtroom.
"i'm fine dad!" you cut him off, anxiety crawling up your spine as you neglected the meal you were going to make, putting him on speaker as you started going through your missed notifications. "i was only studying, i'm sorry it took me so long to call. what's going on?"
"i got a call from a friend who said he saw you a video of you on tmz arguing with that man i told you was no good for you! he could have hurt you driving like that, and then to leave you at a gas station in the middle of winter? i-"
you zoned out as you read all the notifications you missed, clicking on the first one from apple news titled " trouble in paradise already? hockey player toji fushiguro caught in a screaming match with girlfriend (full name)."
you felt like throwing up as you read the article, clicking on the video that was attached and credited to tmz. someone had captured almost the entire thing. from the moment toji stormed from the facility, you chasing shyly behind him, to him speeding off and the person in the car following. the video cuts to him recklessly swerving into the gas station, you slamming the door and him zooming off.
you wanted to shrivel up and die out of pure embarrassment. you had been too angry to think about the fact that your boyfriend is in fact, a well known hockey star and would more than likely be followed by paparazzi or fans. this wouldn't be toji's first time dealing with a scandal but you were far from famous and hated drawing negative attention to yourself.
you swiped down when your phone buzzed again with another notification from instagram. you ignored it and went to the nearly one hundred messages you missed.
shoko (4:00pm): ANSWER YOUR PHONE NOW
shoko (4:00pm): TMZ JUST POSTED YOU ARGUING WITH TOJI. CALL ME!!
shoko (4:01pm): OMG (NAME), WHY IS YOUR PHONE OFF. THIS IS SERIOUS
shoko (4:03pm): im coming over after my shift at the hospital! you better open or I'll kick the door down.
unknown number (3:25pm): hey princess.
unknown number (4:10pm): just saw the video. wanna talk about it? sorry your bf's a dick
toji 💘 (4:05pm): answer the phone now. i'm not fucking around.
toji 💘 (4:07pm): you're a fucking brat, feel better now that you embarrassed us?
and only one missed call from him out of the near one hundred you had gotten from your family and friends.
"i'll call you back dad, i have to go." you hung up before he could respond, saved the new number under "satoru 🏒" and called shoko.
✮
two weeks ago
satoru hadn't spoke to nor seen you since the video of fushiguro leaving you at a gas station was posted. you had missed the game today and satoru held a deep resentment toward his teammate for that. he wanted to see you before the next game tomorrow, which would be taking place in a different city. as would the next seven after that.
you never responded to his text which usually wouldn't bother satoru if it had been literally anyone else. he hadn't stopped thinking about what suguru told him two days ago, the secrets fushiguro was hiding from not just you but the public as well. he knew it wasn't his business.
he reminded himself again that you weren't his girlfriend but he still felt an odd sense of responsibility toward you. an urge to protect your heart from his teammate's bullshit. even if he didn't get you in the end, you didn't deserve what toji was doing behind your back.
that's what led to him grilling the man in the locker room after everyone else had left. he held him back under the guise that he needed to talk to him about his performance at the game today when that couldn't be further from the truth.
"make it quick cap. got some things i need to get done before we fly out." toji glared at him with his arms crossed.
satoru took his time removing his helmet, ruffing up his hair before setting it in his locker. his pads were next, followed by his shinguards and gloves. toji was clearly annoyed, sighing impatiently which only made satoru smirk and shoot him a wink.
"how's (name) holding up?"
toji was immediately defensive, standing straight and moving closer to intimidate satoru, though the captain was still slightly taller than him. "fuck do you care for, gojo? you fuckin her or something?"
"not yet." satoru could lie and say he didn't mean to say it, but where was the fun in that? he loved to see toji riled up and was dying for a reason to lay him out after how he publicly humiliated you.
"don't fuck with me. couldn't give a fuck if you're captain or not, don't disrespect my girl." toji all but hisses.
satoru let his laughter fill the room. loud and obnoxious, stomach squeezing as if what toji said was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. "no, that's just reserved for you right? i knew you were still the same scumbag from college but, a baby? that's a new low, even for you."
toji froze, his eyes doubling in size as all the color drained from his face. his mouth dropped open but he didn't say anything before slamming it shut again. satoru couldn't help but think how weak he looks right now. he hadn’t even mentioned the rumors of his gambling, the pregnancy accusation had been more than enough to leave the man stunned.
“what is she now? four months? and you’ve been dating (name) for five, which means you’re not only going to be a father but you’re a fucking cheater too.”
having had enough of being scolded like a child, toji locked eyes with his old friend, wondering where they went wrong. years ago he would do anything for him but right now, he never hated anyone more than satoru gojo and he could tell the captain fucking knew it by the way he smirked.
"so what? you gonna run and tell her, act like some kind of prince charming and fuck her while her walls are down. that your goal gojo? you might be as shitty as me."
"oh I'm not gonna say a word to her. you are."
it was toji's turn to laugh, equally as obnoxious. "like fuck i will."
satoru was past finding this entertaining, his face switching into a threatening look as the act dropped, his voice low and threatening as he leaned closer until he was next to toji's ear. "you'll do it, or else i'll be forced to report your illegal gambling to the higher ups. what was the punishment for betting on your own team again? that's it, you'd be kicked out of the league."
✮
present (early march)
you hadn't seen or heard from toji since he left the city two weeks ago, traveling for some games away from home and you were surprisingly calm about it. you'd been knee deep in your studies for the bar exam coming up in july, and didn't have room on your schedule for relationship drama. you were pretty sure you were going to end things anyways but wanted to do it in person.
it turns out that dating famous people wasn't for you. you preferred a lowkey life, one that didn't include getting harassed by your boyfriends fans because: how dare you slam the door of toji fushiguro's car! you ended up making your account private and deleting comments until the hype died down and people moved onto the next big story.
it only took a week of nonstop harrassment, no big deal! then, after you posted a selfie with your account public again, the "she's such a diva!" "the (name) hate was so forced now y'all love her 😂" "that's a baddie right there 💅" comments started pouring in. though you could also thank gojo for that.
he reposted the picture on his story (which you liked) and only captioned it: 🤍
then he commented:
satorugojo: pretty girl (15,340 likes)
you didn't like it, not wanting to stir up any rumors more than he probably already did but it didn't bother you either. your actual reaction was to bite your lip, grinning like a teenage girl with a crush and pull out your rose toy. imagining a certain white haired, blue-eyed hockey player to help push you over the edge. it technically wasn't cheating, especially if your boyfriend ghosted you and you had plans to break up with him anyways.
you were just a girl.
a week after that, the boys were returning from their out of state games and shoko invited you to a party being thrown to celebrate them winning every game (eight in total!). it was a team effort of course, but you knew the real star was gojo. he was a beast on the ice, often being called the king of the rink by sports channels.
you watched a few games on tv, noticing how his teammates passed him the puck and he'd immediately shoot without thinking twice. he never froze, always confident in his ability to carry his team to a win. he was the sniper and captain for a reason, having insanely accurate aim and scoring from angles that seemed near impossible.
his post-game interview only proved how cocky he was.
interviewer: you made that look easy. what happened from your perspective?
gojo: their goalie gave me too much room. that’s on him.
and it was the hottest thing ever. his confidence, the way his white hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead, his dimple flashing whenever he smiled. it's what made you finally decide to text him. it was simple, just a quick "watched the game last night, you killed it! 🐐🏒"
to which he responded: "scored just for you, princess." and you didn't respond but hearted the message then screamed into your pillow.
now you were squeezing into a black dress that hugged your figure nicely and matching tights after telling yourself you were done with the public scene. unfortunately shoko was your best friend and you always had trouble telling her no.
you let your hair down tonight, spraying on your favorite japanese cherry blossom perfume as she walked into your bathroom.
she wore a dress similar to yours, only hers was purple and she slung a leather jack over her shoulders that had the teams logo and colors. the upper right patch sporting the number "2", which was geto's number. you didn't mention it but smirked to yourself.
"you look hot as fuck. think toji's gonna be jealous when his own team is drooling over you?"
you groaned as you applied your clear lip gloss, not wanting to hear his name. you still had to break up with him and weren't looking forward to it. you planned to pull him aside at the party where there would be plenty of people to thwart the explosive reaction you knew you would get in private.
"he should be." was all you said before she was pulling you out the door and into an uber. the party was more private and at geto's house, so you were glad there wouldn't be as much paparazzi as a nightclub might have.
you found yourself playing with your thumbs the entire twenty minute drive there, watching as the city lights faded into trees as you made your way into the hills. buildings turning into mansions, the stars in the sky becoming more visible with less light pollution.
you were nervous about breaking up with toji but more anxious about seeing gojo. especially after he reposted you on his story and called you pretty girl in your very much public comment section. his publicist probably scolded him for that one. as far as the public knew, you were still with toji.
"ready?" shoko grabbed onto you, stopping your fidgeting hands as the car slowed down in front of a surprisingly modest sized home, compared to the other ones in the neighborhood. your stomach twisted at the sound of loud music and at least fifty cars parked in the street and in front of geto's three garages.
you thanked the driver before stepping out of the car, heels clicking against the pavement as your friend pulled you toward the gates. there was one man waiting with a camera strapped across his neck, though he quickly lifted it when he spotted you.
multiple flashes started going off and you had to block your eyes as he started yelling. "(name)! you here to see toji or gojo?" "(name), what happened that day at the gas station? seemed heated!" you ignored every question while shoko told him to fuck off and pulled you through the gates after confirming her invitation with security.
you tried to blink the light spots away and not allow that creep to ruin your night. you didn't understand how stalking people just to get their photo wasn't illegal but that was a problem for another day because you were at the front door that had been left wide open. the bass from the song playing giving you a boost of confidence as you slid your jacket off and threw it on one of the racks at the front door.
you didn't know what to do with yourself so you let shoko pull you along, "geto said they'd be out back by the pool!"
oh. it was that kind of party. it's not that you didn't know how to swim, just that you needed a very good reason to do so plus it was cold as fuck. you weren't a fan. you didn't even think about the fact that shoko had geto's number as she kept dragging you through a sea of bodies.
couples were basically fucking as they danced to the music, men and women alike were throwing back shots like no tomorrow, someone was throwing up in the corner. it was only eleven and these kind of events lasted until three of four in the morning. not that you'd be staying any longer than needed to satisfy your friend.
the pool was big with checker style tiles at the bottom and matching black sun chairs on each side of it. most were being occupied by members of the team you recognized, a pretty girl or guy on their lap. some people splashing each other in the pool.
on the lawn kicking a ball back and forth was gojo, suguru and a few other men you'd never seen before. toji was there too, standing with his back against the fence, playful smirk on his face, dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans. you froze when he looked up and made eye contact with you.
"i think i'll wait inside, you go ahead!" you pulled away from your friend before she could stop you and bolted into the house, toji following while yelling your name.
you pretended you didn't hear him as you entered the music bumping house, in search of a drink and an escape. your nerves were getting the best of you. you'd never actually broken up with someone before, opting to just let them ghost you or you ghost them. this was different, toji was obviously not going to let that happen like you hoped he would.
what were you even supposed to say? "hey, I'm really sorry but i'm not feeling the spark between us anymore and I think we should break up. oh by the way, I have a fat crush on your captain." you guess that wasn't really bad as long as you left out the last part.
you beelined toward geto's kitchen, pushing past people and moving around the island to get to the fridge. pulling it open you sighed in relief that there was one last bottle of heineken, grabbing it greedily before cracking it open against the counter. you didn't really drink but knew you would need it in order to survive this conversation that loomed over you like a dark cloud.
your entire body tensed when you heard him enter the room, yelling your name and making you want to die of embarrassment as a few people stared. how did this become your life? this is exactly why you didn't date in the first place!
you took a few sips before setting it on the counter and turning. time to face the music.
he moved toward you with a frown, having the nerve to look confused at the fact that you might not want to talk to him. it was going to be a long night.
"what the fuck? why are you ignoring me?" he grabbed onto your arm but you were quick to snatch it away. scoffing in disgust when he started checking you out. "the fuck are you doing wearing that short ass dress out the house like you're not in a relationship?"
"ha! are we even together still? I haven't heard from you in two weeks dipshit." you put more space between the two of you, pressing your back against the counter as he moved closer. he reeked of alcohol and weed, the white of his eyes turning red, eyelids slightly droopy.
he bit his jaw, taking in a deep breath and looking around before speaking. "i've been focused on the games, y'know that. can we talk in private?"
"absolutely fucking not. whatever you need to say you can say it right here." you hardly had time to process what was happening before he yanked your arm and started pulling you to the front door. you were too stupefied to protest, letting him control your body until you were on the front lawn where only a few security guards were, paparazzi guy gone.
you yanked away from him again, giving him your best death glare as you stopped yourself from smacking his face off.
"speak and make it quick, i don't wanna spend all night arguing." you could tell toji was taken aback by your tone by the way he leaned away from you. you had never talked to him this way, acted so indifferent toward him.
"listen.. first i need you to know that i wasn't ignoring ya on purpose. i knew you were pissed and wanted to give you the space you need to cool off. you think we can actually talk now?"
"i'm still standing here aren't i?" you needed to keep your act up. seeming cold would make it easier to break up with him. he needed to understand that there was no saving this relationship and being sweet wouldn't help that.
"you're a fucking brat." he ran a hand down his face, suddenly interested in your heels. "don't kill me, doll. i need you to understand that i wasn't thinking straight when it happened. everything was moving too fast, i was drunk and didn't wear protection-"
you already knew where this was going, heart about to leap out of your chest as you squinted your eyes at him, humiliation crashing into you like a wave. all this time your suspicion had been valid, the red flags so obvious only a fool would ignore them. and boy were you the fucking fool.
honestly the entire thing was funny. here he was trying to find a way to tell you that he cheated on you, while you were trying to find a way to break up with him. kind of poetic how everything came together in the end.
but no protection? he either was about to tell you he'd gotten another woman pregnant or he contracted something from her.
"fuck are you laughing for? i didn't even finish-"
"oh you definitely did finish. god you're so pathetic. so which is it toji? do you have a baby on the way or do i need to get an std screening?" you had always worn condoms with him but you could never be too sure about anything. your hands started to tremble despite trying to hide it.
"the former." he grumbled. nice.
this was really fucking nice. you hit the goldmine when picking him over gojo huh? you regretted hiding your feelings all this time, forcing yourself to be with someone who wasn't even your type. who was originally only a door to get access to another man.
"wow. i have to hand it to you toji, you really embarrassed me in ways i didn't think possible. well, good luck with that." you moved to push past him, wanting to get back to your beer before you lost your shit. only the man grabbed your arm, holding you still as you tried to wiggle away from him. he wasn't letting up, squeezing hard enough to keep you still.
"that's it, really?" he looked hurt. he looked hurt. oh my god, if you got anymore mad than you already were you'd probably explode. literally.
"aww, was i supposed to cry? because honestly, i’m just embarrassed i stayed this long. you weren't even my first choice, won't be too hard moving on."
you moved to pull away again but toji was furious this time, pulling you back hard enough to make you stumble but he kept you upright, pulling close enough that you had to look up to face him. "the fuck are you talking about?"
his eyes were dark, set in an untamed fury but all you could do was grin. you were starting to get cold and needed this conversation to be over. "don't make me laugh toji. you didn't seriously think i was at that party looking for you? it's a shame gojo wasn't there that night or else i could have avoided wasting my time with this."
“hey you piece of fucking shit! let go of her before i break your wrists."
your heart sped up at the sound of gojo's voice coming from behind toji. you looked past him and there he was, wearing a tight black nike shirt that showed off all his muscles. with grey sweats that hung low on his hips and exposed the top of his boxers, but you were too busy staring at the huge dick print pressing against his pants.
holy shit. you were soaking your panties as another man had you yanked up and looked ready to kill you.
"mind your fucking business gojo." toji hissed but kept his eyes locked on you while you kept your eyes on the man behind him.
gojo looked pissed but winked at you before he started to move, making his way to the front lawn before stopping a few feet away from toji.
"i said let her go before i beat your fucking ass fushiguro."
toji huffed out a laugh, turning to look at his teammate. he wasn't stupid enough to think he could outright beat him in a fight. gojo was more on the lean side but that didn't equal weak, and toji knew that by having his fair share of fights with him when they were younger.
it didn't help that you were looking at the man like you were about to start drooling and clawing at him. he doesn't know why he didn't put it together before. the way your eyes would drift while he kissed you at games, the eagerness to join him at every party they had, the fact that you were following gojo on instagram but not him.
toji had never been checkmated like this and did the first thing that came to his intoxicated mind. he turned so he was facing gojo, moving his hand from your arm to the middle of your back and smirked. the feeling sending chills down your spine, eyes wide at the action.
"you want him so bad? there he is, whore." and he pushed you so hard that you gasped as you tripped and twisted your ankle. but before you could hit the grass, gojo caught you, his arms wrapping around your body and pulling you against him.
"are you fucking insane?! i'm gonna kill you fushiguro!" gojo roared at the man's retreating body moving to the front gates, starting up his motorcycle and speeding away.
gojo made to follow but you tightened your grip on his shirt, biting your lip as you stared at him. head titled back, hair falling from your heated face. "don't leave. it-it hurts to stand."
gojo looked conflicted before looking back at you. a rush of desire flooded you from the intense stare he gave you, fury and worry written across his face, his blue eyes glowing a little brighter under the moonlight. "shit, okay okay, uhm- let me just-"
and the world titled when he bent and picked you up, your arms immediately going to wrap around his neck. holding you bridal style as he walked back into the house and made his way toward the stairs. most people minded their business, though some stared and whispered to each other:
"what's she doing with him?
"isn't that toji's girl?"
"didn't you see the video? i think they broke up."
only shutting up when gojo shot them all a promising glare. you just tucked your head into his neck, inhaling the smell of his cologne, a mixture a vanilla and something spicy. you heart was thumping so hard that you felt it in your throat, the feeling of one of his arms under your legs while the other was dangerously close to your left boob.
you were on fire. body too busy buzzing with excitement to acknowledge the slight sting in your ankle.
he kept a firm grip, holding you close to his chest as he started moving up the stairs. he didn't say anything as he kept walking until he reached the first bedroom.
"get out." he told the couple that sounded like they were in the middle of making out. you didn't know as you kept your head hidden in gojo's neck, only feeling the wind they left behind as they rushed out and slammed the door behind them.
"i'm gonna sit you on the bed alright, princess?" his voice was loud against your ear as you refused to move your head, the vibrations from his throat sending butterflies to your dripping cunt. you could feel your juices coating your inner thighs and you weren't even embarrassed. you were sure gojo heard what you told toji and he was still here with you which meant there was a possibility he wanted you to.
you nuzzled your nose against the side of neck, inhaling deep to savor his smell. had he been drinking? you didn't smell any alcohol and for some reason that turned you on even more.
you heard him take in a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening and a small groan escaping his lips. "that's not fair darling. i gotta take a look at your ankle. can i do that first?"
"y-yes." but you still whined when he gently sat you on the edge of the bed, moving to his knees in front of you to inspect your injury.
you sighed in relief when he slipped your first heel off, his low raspy chuckle making your pussy contract against nothing. "hmm, not this foot then?"
you finally looked at him and your head spun with how hot he looked between your legs, staring up at you with those sharp blue eyes and a grin on his face. looking like he was made to be between your legs.
you wanted so badly to pull his hair and guide his face toward where you actually needed him to take care of you.
✮
satoru gojo realized that he was a very weak man when it came to you. no one had ever had him on his knees as he checked them for injuries, nor had they ever moaned so blatantly at an innocent touch. it made his entire body hum with need.
he fought every urge, every instinct to rip those stupid tights off your body and plunge his face between your legs. he wanted to lick you until you were squirting on his tongue and riding his face, calling out his name and his only. then he'd fuck you in that dress, make you cream all over his dick while he filled you until you begged for him to stop.
but he couldn't, remembering the conversation he had with toji in the locker room.
you were vulnerable right now whether you realized that or not. having a bombshell dropped on you, being manhandled by that ogre and then fucking you would be wrong. and that's how satoru knew he was fucked because had you been anyone else, he'd already be inside of you.
he was careful with your next foot, slowly removing the heel and freezing halfway when you hissed in pain. he was actually going to kill fushiguro, but he needed to take care of you first.
"let me know when to move, princess." and the way your body shivered had him feeling like he was the messiah himself. you nodded your head and bit your lip, never breaking eye contact with him. it made him feel..nervous? his friends would never fucking believe that. probably would tease him endless if they knew how much you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger.
he controlled himself, took your heel off all the way and stood. looking down at you while you were leaned back with your arms behind your body to keep you upright, staring at him like the sun rises and sets on him. satoru had overheard what you said to toji, that you had been looking for him the day you got with him. it made him feel a little less crazy for this obsession he's had with you, knowing you wanted him too.
you wanted him!
"stand for me. wanna make sure it's just hurting and not sprained or broken." satoru was no doctor but he had his fair share of injuries with being a hockey player.
when you stood, that skimpy dress of yours rose just a little and exposed the under curves of your hips before you pulled it down. yeah, you were trying to kill him and he would gladly let you. it was almost sad, honestly. if only satoru were able to easily feel shame.
"what's it feel like?"
"just stings a bit but i can put weight on it."
"good."
then it was silent. painfully so. you were fiddling with your fingers, looking everywhere but at him and he was fighting the urge to pull your body against him. it didn't have to be sexual, he just really wanted to touch you. make you feel special in all the ways toji had never done, to make you forget the hurt he watched you try to hide.
"look, i'm sure you heard what i told-"
"was it true?" and he responded so fast that it made you chuckle and step closer to him. warm cheeks was the closest he'd feel to embarrassment. like i said, the man rarely felt shame.
"yes."
and then he was reaching toward, placing both of his hands against your hips and pulling you tight against him, internally smiling at the way you gasped. he grabbed your chin and lifted your face to his, almost laughing at how blown out your eyes were. his pretty princess. seems he wasn't the only one whipped.
he leaned forward until his lips ghosted over yours. he could feel your breath clashing with his, an magnetic force buzzing between you, two opposites trying to latch together. "now's the time to tell me to stop."
and when you responded: "why would i do that?" he let his lips press against yours. it was slow, not rushed and messy like how he kissed his dates. you deserve more than that. he took his time, committing the way you felt to memory, trying not to cum in his pants.
the air around you both is charged, walls closing in on satoru as he lost himself to you. the floor shifting beneath him, music lowly thumping in the background as he tuned the world out and focused only on you and your very soft lips. then he teased them with his tongue, testing boundaries. so that's what your lipgloss tasted like.
stars burst behind his eyes when you connected your tongue with his. he groaned into your mouth as he deepened the kiss and your hands slowly crept up his chest, manicured nails lightly scratching his muscles.
he knew he should stop things here but his mind was gone and soon enough he was pushing you back to the bed, letting your body fall before he was back on you. he settled between the legs you so willingly spread for him, his throbbing cock pushing against your pussy. his lips locked against yours.
"satoru." you moaned when he started trailing kisses to your neck, hips grinding against his length as you gripped the sheets and the man was actually shaking.
that was the first time he heard you say his first name. most people opted to call him by his surname, which was normal in his culture but to hear the way it fell from your lips.. he thought he might be in love with you.
"fuck princess. you smell so good, got my dick leaking right now. y'know that?" then he was back above you before he got to the point of no return, reminding himself that he said he wouldn't take advantage of you. he typically wasn't a very patient man when it came to taking care of his needs, but for you he would try.
"i can't, i-i'm sorry" and satoru hadn't stuttered since he was child, but this was the man you had reduced him to. he quickly removed himself from you, sitting on the bed next to you as he placed his elbows on his bouncing legs, head in his hands as he attempted to regain some kind of control.
"what? why the fuck not?" you shot up, looking at the man beside you like he had an extra head. hurt in your voice that had him lifting his head to look at you. your eyes were glossy and it nearly broke his composure. his heart sunk at the thought that you might think he didn't want you.
"can't take advantage of you like that-"
"you're not! i want this just as much as you do, why are you doing this?" and if he knew how desperately you'd wanted been wanting him for the past two years, then maybe it would be a different story. but he didn't, so he stood his ground.
literally. he leaped up from the bed, dragging his hand through his hair as he paced the room.
"i won't take advantage of you like that. you just broke up with your boyfriend after finding out he cheated on you and then he-"
"i know what he did." and his heart cracked just a little at the glare you shot at him. he never wanted to be at the center of your ire, even if you looked fucking adorable with your lips set in a pout.
"then you understand why i can't fuck you right now, as much as i want to."
then you were standing and making your way to him, favoring your right leg and satoru started thinking of what weapon he would use to kill toji. he moved to help you, attempting to lead you back to the bed and mumbling about going to get you ice but you stopped him.
"satoru..i appreciate the concern, but i've been wanting this for a very long time."
he couldn't help the shit eating grin that spread across his face. he was still satoru gojo after all and your words did nothing to help his already large ego.
"yeah?" he whispered, running the back of his hand down your cheek, amused at the way you shivered against him. "tell me how long, beautiful. how many times did you touch yourself and imagine it was me instead?"
"two years."
oh.. his eyes darkened and in a flash his mouth was back on yours and your bodies were once again tangled together on the bed. your equally aroused moans filled the room, the party long forgotten as he gripped your hips and ground his aching cock into you. trying not to cum at the way you were squirming beneath him, begging him for more.
new plan: satoru was going to eat your pussy until you screamed his name and burst on his tongue.
✮
you were gone beneath gojo. your pussy was throbbing, head thrown back in pure ecstasy, heart trying to break free of your chest. he hiked your dress up your hips, taking care to caress them before he kissed his way down your body.
he was savoring you, his teeth lightly nipping at your inner things before he sat back on his legs and stared down at you like he were a god and you his worshipper. the room was dark save for the moonlight and it gave his eyes an unnatural glow. his white hair falling to his eyes before he pushed it back.
"lift your hips for me, princess."
your breath caught, face on fire and tingling as you obeyed the man above you. strong hands instantly grip the top of your black tights, slowly pulling them down your body along with your panties. your juices had escaped your underwear and stuck to your thighs and the sight had gojo ripping the tights of you, no longer as patient as he once seemed.
"gonna make you feel so good. make you forget all about that bastard. that okay, love?" the way he was eyeing your bare pussy as he settled his face between your thighs had your nipples hardening, your entire body hypersensitive to the man below you. he noses your thighs, kissing and biting like a man starved.
you couldn't tell if he was joking or not. you were practically a puddle beneath him and he still questioned if you wanted him. "yes! god, yes. please, i need you satoru."
he was immediately on you, licking a long stripe from your hole to your clit before sucking on it hard. you threw your hand back, hands moving to grab his hair as you started riding against his face. the way he ate you like you were his last meal would be the death of you. you couldn't take in full breaths, too busy moaning like a whore and fucking yourself against the man that plagued your thoughts for two fucking years.
"taste as good as you look." he mumbled against your pussy, the heat of his breath making you shake violently. he was quick to add two fingers, pushing them deep while your back arched off the bed.
your moans were pornographic when you looked down at him, his eyes locked solely on yours.
you would feel embarrassed by the sounds you were making so obviously telling him you hadn't been touched in a while, if he didn't look drunk on your pussy. his eyes rolling back as he curled his fingers inside of you and sucked harder. your squishy walls tightening around him.
"satoru! oh my god, ngghhh m'gonna cum- haaah!"
he pumped his fingers faster, his other hand gripping your hip and pulling you flat against his face. the feel of his nose nuzzling against you had you squirting against his mouth, your own dropped open in a silent scream as you tightened your thighs against his head.
he groaned and drunk up everything you gave him. gojo looked feral, like he would die if he missed even a drop. the feeling so intense that you were momentary blinded by the white pulsing pleasure rushing through your body from head to toe.
✮
two days later gojo texted you while you were doing some shopping with shoko. he had been doing that a lot since that night, texting and calling you when he wasn't practicing or doing whatever hockey players did when they weren't on the ice.
satoru 👅 (2:10pm): ever been ice skating?
you (2:10pm): no lol, i'd fall and break my neck 🤦♀️ no thank you.
that was how you found yourself standing rock solid in the rink of his practice facility. he assured you no one would be there today and he was careful to sneak you in the back to avoid paparazzi.
you tried to protest, really you did but he was annoyingly determined.
"i don't have skates."
"i'll buy you some"
"what if I fall?"
"i won't let you."
"i've never done this before."
"i'll teach you."
an hour and a half later here you were scowling at the man currently hovering over you, wearing those stupid white skates he got you, trying not to fall on your ass. you dressed yourself in blue jeans, a plain long sleeved white shirt and your faux fur jacket to keep you warm. your hair tied tight behind your head.
he was dressed in black sweatpants, black skates and a #1 blue jersey that he wore over a long sleeve shirt.
"don't look at me like that, princess. makes my dick hard."
he pulls you closer and you slide forward, almost falling because you were clueless as fuck and didn't think to move your legs. he smirked when you fell to his chest, his blue eyes sparkling at you.
he gripped your chin before placing a gentle kiss to your lips and moving to stand beside you. you were swooning, but made sure to hide that from the man who was obviously trying to humiliate you.
"relax your ankles. you look tense as fuck, that's only gonna make this harder."
you shot him a "keep talking, i dare you" look but listened to him anyways. trying your best to relax and remind yourself that satoru was a professional and wouldn't let anything happen to you.
"start by putting one foot in front of the other. we're just gonna glide, nothing crazy."
he waited for you to move first, his patience surprising you. satoru was the complete opposite during his games, a beast on the rink that earned him a spot amongst the greatest at his young age. and here he was, hand reaching to grab yours. letting you to make the first move. it gave you butterflies.
you sucked in a deep breath before grounding yourself. "ok, i'm ready."
satoru placed a kiss to the side of your head before skating in front of you so he could guide you. you had insisted on staying by the board, which you gripped like your life depended on it.
slowly you let your feet move you forward, marching more than actually gliding but you were moving and that was all that mattered. even if the man in front of you was obviously holding back a laugh while you were actively fighting for survival.
"you're doing great, now try to actually slide. you're not in a marching band."
it took you a while but when you started to get the hang of it, you were doing something close enough to skating to satisfy satoru. he praised you the entire time. telling you how hot you looked on his turf, how you were his real life ice princess, how he was going to eat your pussy real good if you stayed upright.
he was driving you up a wall. showing off when you finally found the courage to push off the wall, skating around you and stealing kisses that left you flustered. he started skating backwards effortlessly, arms crossed at his chest as he smiled at you with pride written across his face.
you personally had no idea how he did this for a living. while you were mostly doing ok now, you still struggled to stay up right, arms in front you just in case you fell. he always made it look so easy but you realized just how chaotic this sport could be.
after a little more showing off, he skated behind you with his hands on your hips and his mouth littering your neck with kisses. he squeezed you against him as he shifted weight and dug the blade into the ice, easing you both into a stop.
"you did great babe."
you let your head fall back on his chest, legs tucked between his as you came back down to earth. one of his hands left your hip, while the other rubbed circles against your exposed skin. you didn't even realize he was taking a picture until your phone was blowing up with notifications later that night.
satorugojo tagged you in a photo
satorugojo: future first overall pick
and the comments went crazy.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnote: i'm thirsting over the jjk men real bad right now and need gojo inside of me RAW! also sorry if anything is inaccurate, i crammed some hockey research in before and while writing this 😅 ps: i'm american so it might be diff in your country! did y'all catch that shatter me reference? 🤭
summary: dumb texts that i wrote bc the pickleball msg did actually come to me in a dream
warnings: fem!reader (names like mama, wife, etc.), sexual humor, mean gf behavior (but they love each other it’s okay she’s a tsundere), idk cursing?, maybe toxic behavior? they're both just weirdos tbh
a/n: idk just enjoy this or don’t these r stupid anyway.. just wanted to put smth out there for yall to munch on
summary: dumb texts that i wrote bc the pickleball msg did actually come to me in a dream
warnings: fem!reader (names like mama, wife, etc.), sexual humor, mean gf behavior (but they love each other it’s okay she’s a tsundere), idk cursing?, maybe toxic behavior? they're both just weirdos tbh
a/n: idk just enjoy this or don’t these r stupid anyway.. just wanted to put smth out there for yall to munch on
Toying with the strings of his sweatshirt in the dark room, only the light from the TV reflecting back over his dazed features, bouncing onto the shadowy walls
both of you caught between dozing off and seeing the movie you’d agreed upon
“Can I little spoon you”
Ryul breathed into the crook of your neck—hand rested on your hip, his own nudging you lazily,
wanting you to turn onto your side over his black sheets
“I’m about ready to fall asleep—c’mon
He complained, eyes looking up from your chest, pouting faintly
“Hmm—I’m tired too, just don’t put too much weight on me I’ll get hot”
“I’ll try not to babe”
Sounds from the screen muffled when you pressed your cheek to the cold pillow, bed creaking softly as you turned over—hip bone pressing into the spongy mattress, your line of sight now his white closet door
Ryul brought his lips to your forehead—chaste peck placed by thin lips, grinning comfortably
wrapping a solid arm he weaved around your waist, bringing you closer to meet his tight chest—legs intertwined between yours
He sighed deeply,
“Perfect—sleep now princess”
Retaliating, “Don’t tell me what to d—,
both your eyes shifted to the large pixels when breathy moans came from the speakers, realizing the volume was way too loud
The actress busy undressing on the screen alongside the male lead actor—, going at each others face with kisses,
Your eyes automatically shot wide, the calm nerves firing up in embarrassment and something…unfamiliar
Ryul was busy breathing warmly into your ear, watching the scene, caught off–guard himself—his hand shifting behind him, blindly trying to search for the remote, eyes un–peeling from your expressions
His tan cheeks flared up—noticing just how close you were to him before feeling the remote hit his clammy palms,
thumb shakily moving over the power button,
screen shifting to a pitiless black when he clicked, room now pitch dark
“Are you an idiot, why’d you turn it off”
“What?” He snapped, “what do you mean why? They were about to fuck, we’re tired anyways let’s go to sleep”
Rolling your eyes in the pitch black, you shifted back more—uncomfortable in the sudden darkness unable to see him
“But babe you know I like sleeping with sounds in the background”
He sighed deeper into your ear, scoffing
“Just tell me you’re not tired—say it”
“Wha—no I am tired, I just nee—
Ryuls lips pressed to the soft flesh of your earlobe, mouth parting
“I said say it, because now we really can’t sleep”
His hips molded behind yours closer—thighs pining your body to his till you noticed…
it hit your leg, sharp, heavy
“Ryul what’s that”
He growled low when you shifted—testing, your ass trying to make out shape of the rough object digging below the sheets
“Why’re you acting dumb, just because we’re virgins doesn’t mean we didn’t take anatomy”
giggling, your boyfriends hand moved to your front—tugging below the hem of your shirt to palm at your bare stomach
“So it really is your dick hm, pervert—
“..Pervert! Really! You’re the one that keeps bumping your ass into my boner, watch ou—
He hissed, biting his lip to muffle a guttural moan when you grinded harder behind you—feeling his cock twitch in his shorts—pressed suffocatingly flat between his thigh and your mounds
his hand massaged at the soft lump of your lower stomach, anchoring you perfectly to him to thrust in relief
His vulnerable whimpers hitting your ear wetly
“This slow enough for you?”
Nodding, his movements riled up—breathy moans charging up into growls, lips trudging over yours in lazy–wet pecks,
mouths hung agape in pleasure
“I’m really wet Ryul, like a lot”
He tongued at your inner cheek, groaning
“Mm’ yea? Why’s that hm”
His hips snapped futile thrust over your clothed ass, moving his hand down to trace the outline of your panties, middle finger dipping between the clothed slit, circling the cold dampness against your folds
“Because I made you this hard, it’s so hot—haa’h keep touching me there”
Grinds quickly matched pace—slow, sometimes rapid, then pausing from the intense stimulation you gave each other
Eventually, Ryul couldn’t take it anymore
He was either cumming in his shorts, or cumming in general—the present was too lewd for him to hold back
… how helpless you felt, not handling it anymore yourself, clit twitching in animalistic, anticipation building, needing to land before imploding deep within you
“Need more of me right, bet you do”,
teeth let go of your neck, new splotches joining the dozen others he’d finish marking
“Obviously, I know you do too babe”
“Mhm,” he peck your lips “want me to handle it? I’ll go slow, unless you got other ideas?”
Turning around to face him, you leaned closer—palm touching the foreign spot of his bulge over the wet shorts clinging to his cock,
his gasp joined the sound of the buzzing AC in the peaceful background—
“Let’s do it like this—facing each other. Is that better?”
“Mmm—but if you keep touching me like that I’ll bust all over your hand”
You raised a brow, not looking away from him, “yeah? Then take it out yourself I won’t touch”
Before you reached away, his hand quickly caught your wrist—holding it in place, eyes narrowed over your shadowy features
“No, leave it there. Take it out yourself and put my cock where you want it”
“Hah—so you’re wanting me to do all the work?”
He sat up, arrogantly grinning
“No princess, I just want you to be sure of what you’re getting yourself into, yea?
“Stop speaking to me like I’m a child and come here, why’d you get u—
Ryuls arms pinned to the sides of your head—holding up his weight as he shifted over you, lowering his bottom half
“I’m right here—take it out, I’ll do the rest”
Hurriedly, your fingers pulled down his shorts—eyes blind to the grey boxers he was sporting,
dick straining the fabric seductively, if you would’ve been able to see it clearly, your mouth would’ve wrapped around it in seconds
…but you settled for feeling it, taking it out
heavy, pre–cum cool around sticky flesh, thick lines pressed to the patterns of your digits,
his hips jutted, cock gliding instinctively in your hand—as if it were a flesh-light
“You fine babe?” jerking him off slowly—your thumb caressed the leaking mushroom tip’s slit experimentally, earning a low growl from Ryul, “I’m putting it where I want it now—” you added
“Hurry up, stop doing that I’m about to cum”, he panted, muscles tensing to hold back snapping into your hand, stilling his hips obediently
Patiently waiting, he heard you slide off your panties, pressing his tip to meet over your wet folds,
instant pleasure coursed though him—spilling out in a choked moan,
hands meeting your waist to pin you down,
“Shit—let me handle the rest”
he pumped his cock once
slowly, he entered you, sighing deeply, hips jutting out of pace awkwardly
a complete beginner at the feeling of your plush walls electrifying his very being, sucking him in dangerously, he already knew he’d become addicted to this newfound sensation forever,
unlocking a level of vulnerability in the relationship,
him craving more already despite his thick head lodged into you
He tapped your thigh, waiting for approval “can I move more baby”
Annoyed, your hips met his in a hard thrust up—knocking the wind out of yourself at your daring actions
Ryul landed over you at the feeling of you voluntarily bottoming him out, voice cracking in defeat against your hair
“Fuck was that about you bra—,
His muscles relaxed as you moved against him—rolling your hips around the pain, loving the feeling of his cock ripping freshly into you
“Woah—nnghh’, feels new Ryul”
Your boyfriend laughed into the crook of your neck, half in disbelief, half breathless from your tightness
“You’re bold today ..what’s gotten into you hm?”, his fingers trudged back at your lower stomach—palming the trace of his cock fucking in you—making you wince
“You’re literally in me—mmh’ so I guess you”
Your hand shifted his fingers lower—wanting him to give your puffy clit attention
he scoffed, sharp corners raising—grinning in amusement, he rolled the tiny bundle of nerves between his fingers—tugging experimentally
You gasped, arching into his chest, gripping at his silky hair
It felt different from when you touched yourself..
Ryul lowered his face to gnaw at your peaks—tongue circling the sharp buds in fleeting relief, suckling hard at your taut nipples
His teeth grazed back up—tracing your neck-line before kissing you—making out the way those two actors were in the movie, yet more tender, much more heated when his teeth clamped your lower lip—pulling it to suck the raw skin into his mouth
“Mm—“, his hand moved faster over your clit,
“cum for me baby”,
he went back to kissing you, growling into your mouth when you pushed his hips lower, wrapping your legs tightly around his lean waists, gesturing him to pound into you faster,
not feeling excruciating pain any longer—just mind numbing ecstasy from the way your virgin boyfriend hit your walls skillfully, amazing your untouched body to its very core—wondering how he mastered you in one try,
the way he played with your clit deliciously, knowing when to tug at it, rub it, let his pubic bone slap against it
the way he made out with your breasts—tongue circling the bud intoxicatingly, the sensation something you drowned in—feeling high above the clouds
…finally, you both released around each other, leaning down to peck your wet eyes
Soft pants enveloping the dark room once filled with sleepiness,
now filled with a reached stepping stone as sighs mixed in the air…
afterwards, he slid out of you—landing back beside you, pulling you closer to his chest, in need of your dewy skin pressed to his
His hand moved to caress your hair—nose nudged deep in the crook of your neck
whispering,
“I’ll carry you around anywhere if you wake up sore…run you a bath..bring you food in bed..,
He’d fall asleep cooing praises of how he’d take care of you afterwards, fingers tangled in your messy locks, breaths eventually blue-toothed in rhythm, both dozed off
synopsis: you liked Choso from the moment you met him. he just didn't notice until someone else had set their sights on (and their dick in) you. is it too late to try - or will your relationship (or just the idea of it) with Gojo get in the way?
relationships: Choso x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Geto x Reader (multiple endings)
content: MDNI, smut and angst and fluff, fake-dating, piv sex, oral (f! + m! receiving) heavy pining, longing, idiots-in-love, (not-so) unrequited love, jealousy, break-ups and makeups, semi-public sex, hot tub sex, second-hand embarrassment, messy relationships, angst with happy endings
a/n: this was my first real fic ever lol so keep in mind it's fairly rough around the edges but I'm not a quitter so I will still finish it even if I'm not that proud lol >.<
